When I bought my BlackBerry, I thought about the 30-year business I ran with 800 employees, all without a cell phone that plays music, takes videos and pictures, and communicates with Facebook and Twitter. I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so my seven kids and their spouses, my 13 grandkids and two great-grandkids could communicate with me in the modern way. I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.
That was before one of my grandkids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, twhirl, TwitterFon, Tweetie, Twitterific, TweetDeck, Twitpic and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting world.
My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the entire next generation. I am not ready to live like this. I now keep my cell phone in the garage in my golf bag.
The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday, because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or library. I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Bluetooth (it’s red) phone I am supposed to use when I drive.
I wore it once. I was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife, and everyone within 50 yards was glaring at me. I had to take my hearing aid out to use it and I got a little loud.
I mean, the GPS looked pretty smart on my dashboard, but the lady inside that gadget was the rudest, most annoying person I had run into in a long time. Every ten minutes, she would say sarcastically, “Re-calc-u-lating.” You would think that she could be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then if I made a right turn instead… well, it was not a good relationship.
When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets. While she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.
To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for four years, but I still haven’t figured out how I can lose three phones all at once, and have to run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings.
The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store. You would think they could settle on something themselves, but this sudden “Paper or Plastic?” every time I check out just knocks me for a loop. I bought some of those cloth reusable bags to avoid looking confused, but I never remember to take them in with me.
Now I toss it back to them. When they ask me, ‘Paper or Plastic?’ I just say, “Doesn’t matter to me. I am bi-sacksual.” Then it’s their turn to stare at me with a blank look.
I was recently asked if I tweet. I answered, “No, but I do toot a lot.”
We senior citizens don’t need any more gadgets. The TV remote and the garage door remote are about all we can handle. I won’t mention the time I mistook the TV remote for the cordless phone.
Two young businessmen were sitting down for a break in their new store in a shopping mall in Florida. With only a few shelves and display racks set up, they were busy getting ready for their grand opening.
One said to the other, “I’ll bet any minute now some senior walks by, puts his face to the window, and asks what we’re selling.”
Sure enough, just a moment later, a curious senior gentleman walked up to the window, looked around intensely and rapped on the glass. In a loud voice he asked, “What are you sellin’ here?”
One of the men replied sarcastically, “We’re selling assholes.”
Without skipping a beat the old timer said, “You must be doing well. Only two left.”