Hands
up those who remember a time when there was no email, no SMS-ing, no iPhones,
iPads, iPods or iAnythings. No instant messaging, no BBMs, no Blackberrys,
Galaxys, or Androids. No Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, Tumblr or Google+.
Or when an app was how someone with a lisp would
pronounce ‘abs’. Or when you actually had to memorise a phone number or look it
up in an actual address book whenever you wanted to ring up someone.
Or when people could only call you at one of two
places – your home or your office, and if they wanted to reach you urgently,
they had to leave a message with someone or on your machine, and sometimes it
would be hours before you got back to them. Or weeks if you were on holiday.
Actually, who remembers a time when going on
holiday meant that no one from work could get in touch with you with stupid
questions like, “Where did you put that file?”, “When are you coming back? I’d
like to schedule a meeting with X!”, or “Can you cut short your holiday? We
have an emergency back here.”
Or send you an email that said, “I know you’re on
holiday, but can you review this attachment? It’s urgent. Thanks.”
What about a time when no one expected you to know
an answer immediately? Which meant that you actually had time to think about
the problem, or head off down the corridor to ask someone who might know, and
if he didn’t, you had to go to the library, which meant a nice walk out in the
fresh air and sunshine.
Or when going on a blind date with a stranger was
actually quite exciting because you couldn’t Google him or check out what kind
of people were his friends on Facebook. And being picked up in a bar was a
genuine thrill that involved a lot of eye contact and flirting, and didn’t
involve an app that churned out dozens of pictures of half naked bodies of
anyone within 50 m of your current location, with accompanying text that
specified with embarrassing detail what they did or didn’t like done to them.
I ask all this because Saffy and Amanda recently
started an electronic diet as a kind of social experiment. Actually, it was a
drunken bet that sounded like a good idea when you’ve just drunk half a bottle
of tequila and five shots, and you’re no longer depressed about the terrible
day you had at the office.
“So,” I began, as I scrunched up my forehead,
trying to come to grips with this, “you are both
going to go a week without any electronic
contact?”
“Yes!” Amanda said firmly. “No handphones, no
social media, no Google, nothing!”
“What if people need to call you?”
Saffy smirked. “They can call us on the lan-line!”
This announcement was followed by a slight pause as
our eyes flicked around our apartment.
“Do we even have
a lan-line?” Amanda eventually asked.
It turns out we do, but it took us a good ten
minutes of peering behind sofas and rummaging through shelves to find it before
Saffy had the bright idea of calling the home phone from her iPhone.
“But this is the last time I’m using this!” she
declared as she slipped her phone into a box that already held various gadgets.
It’s now day three of the diet and tempers are
frayed.
Without her map app, Saffy got lost walking from
Shenton Way to Raffles Place. Amanda spent half an hour wandering around Ngee
Ann City looking for a phone that she could use to ring a friend to tell him
that she was running late for their lunch. By the time she arrived all hot and
flustered, he’d left, so she had to have lunch by herself, which she considered
a fate worse than death.
Sharyn rang me in a state of hysteria, screaming
that something foul must have happened to Saffy because she’d not answered any
of her SMSs and the voicemail was full. When I explained the situation, she
became even more hysterical.
“Aiyoh, where got such thing, one? This is not
1962, you know! I thought she fall into longkang
and die there alone! Got handphone, don’t use! They all siao, ah, I tell you!”
The worst came when the staff at Gucci tried to
call Amanda to tell her about their sale. Of course, they couldn’t reach her.
When Amanda found out, she started trembling and her eyes took on the kind of
glazed look you normally only see on faces of unhappy African children.
If you’re not sure what I mean, you should Google
it.
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