Don’t get me wrong; I have no problem with technology. In fact, when I can afford new techie toys, I embrace them.
The problem is that my cell phone is more organic than electronically organized. It tends to leap like an incautious frog into the depths of the couch, or slither underneath a pile of papers on my desk. When I walk to the mailbox, that sneaky little creature, disguised as a rectangle of metal and plastic, manages to wriggle out of my pocket and find a perch on the retaining wall, from which to enjoy the afternoon breezes. Is it catching flies?
So it’s sneaky. Maybe I could live with that. But I’m here to tell you that it has become downright nasty of late. It hides my messages. Seriously. After an expedition yesterday to locate the wayward beast I peered between its grinning lips and was rewarded with the information that I had two new messages. I pushed the button that is supposed to let me “listen now.” Nothing.
I slapped the gaping rictus closed, and with a flounce of irritation nearly tossed the critter back in the pond. Then I remembered, “press 1.” OK, I can do that. I pressed 1 and called voicemail. “You have no new messages, ” I was informed in a hollow voice.
Great, that’s just great. This annoying beast speaks with a forked tongue. Do I have two messages, or no messages? Based on past experience, I’m pretty sure that I do have messages, but they will not be regurgitated for me to listen to for at least two days. If someone really needs me to respond soon, too bad.
Then there is the problem of how to maintain this wayward pet. It demands feeding every day or it goes into hibernation. It refuses to be cuddled affectionately between shoulder and ear the way its predecessor enjoyed. No, it insists on being held by at least one hand. Even its voice is unpleasant. Unless fed extra greens it insists on singing snatches of horrid pop songs instead of croaking a simple “Ring-it!”
Just one more little push, one more swallowed message, another game of hide and seek, and you’ll find me sending this monster back to the mud and keeping a pocket frog instead. I think we’ll get along better.