TALES FROM THE QUARTER

By Debbie Lindsey

Dinosaurs Still Roam

More and more, I see my life, even my recent past, as seemingly obsolete. Oh! I am fairly current and more than relevant today, yet much that is near and dear to me has become a thing of the past in the eyes of younger folks. And not just sentimental stuff but simple everyday, commonplace terms, phrases, and references that were second nature to me. I first noticed this a decade ago as my elevator humor caused a “duh” look among the other riders in the lift (there I go again—a term no one uses). Anyway, I thought myself clever with my, “Second floor: ladies’ apparel,” or “Fifth floor: household goods and appliances. Watch your step please.” That’s when I realized I had outgrown my hotel elevator audience— they were too young to have known that lady operators clad in snappy uniforms once controlled the elevator and its etiquette.

A few years back, in my book shop, I often had to take credit card info directly from a customer and when requesting the security code for the card, I would follow with, “And now we will share the secret hand-shake and your decoder ring will be mailed to you.” Then one day my two twenty-something customers paused, a bit confused, until one said to the other, “Oh! I’ll explain it to you later. I saw it in an old movie.” Also, I was beginning to notice a curious look when I would count back a customer’s change—they were now accustomed to a computerized register doing the math and flashing “change due.” Both ways achieve the same results, but mine required being able to count—a little motor/brain skill no longer widely used. At this rate adding two and two will soon require a calculator.

Does anybody remember phone numbers anymore? You know—have them stored in your head—your memory. It began with speed dial on my landline, and that was a slippery slope. Now our devices store and remember these for us. Is this healthy for our brains? Perhaps we shouldn’t overburden our gray matter with mundane stuff; yet, doesn’t our memory need the exercise? Then again, don’t we get enough of a work-out just trying to remember all those damn passwords and user names we are burdened with these days? To protect ourselves from identity theft, we’re told not to use the same ones for everything—screw that. They want my weird-ass identity (and all my neuroses), they can have it, and I say best of luck.

Another rear-view moment recently was the discussion with a young tourist, of my childhood road trips from Mobile (hometown) to New Orleans. They asked how long a drive that was, and I replied, “Well, before the Interstate, it was a four to five hour drive.” They just stared at me. I responded to that look, “Yes, I am that old.” For that look of near pity, just give someone under fifty your AOL email address—@aol really freaks them out. God, I just wanna slap ‘em with a flip phone. Okay, with a degree of regret, I must fess up: I no longer have a burner phone (you get more street cred asking the Boost Mobile sales assistant for a burner). Fun fact: Guinness World Records lists Debbie Lindsey as the “Last Person on the Planet to Get a Cell Phone.”

When dinosaurs roamed, we had phones that remained attached to our houses. They did not fit in your pocket, or your ear, and they only accepted a human voice for communication. No typing notes, no viewing movies or TicToking, no breaking news. They still exist and are known as landlines, but their habitat is shrinking. You didn’t talk on them during dinner or when you had company. Only doctors and drug dealers had mobile phones, and they were big and looked like a walkie-talkie, also referred to as “the brick.” And it wasn’t that long ago that cell phones were not allowed and/or frowned upon at work. Now, you damn well better have a cell on you at all times for work related interactions. Times change; rules change.

The Good Ole Days never really existed. Racism went virtually unchecked, and women were kept in check. There was no LGBTQ, just a lot of lives lived in secret with unnecessary, unwarranted shame. Therefore, I am relieved for much that is gone and grateful for so many of today’s changes and advances. But much change is careless, profit driven, and cloaked in the disguise of progress. Replacing people (jobs) with self-serve check-outs, gutting the soul of a historic cottage, and placing digital tablets, cell phones, and e-books in the hands of children without at least showing them the beauty of a real book and the pleasures of a library. Change requires thought and care.

Admittedly I’m spoiled by the conveniences our current world provides. Do I find it easier to write this column from a device that allows me to edit, spell-check, research, attach, send, and make copies without carbon paper? Heck yeah. Do I find this piece of equipment to be a mine-field of rabbit holes and mindless distractions? Yes. Did I rail against digital cameras? Vehemently. Do I use my cell phone camera now? Constantly. I feel conflicted, like a sell-out. So I suggest to myself and others: compromise. Stay current, enjoy the perks, but take the time to dust off that vinyl, check-out that library book, get lost in the genius of classic films, and bake a batch of cookies from scratch.

The other day, I saw evidence of roaming dinosaurs. First, there was a young boy content with a real book. Then, a young woman was reading a newspaper. Later, a twenty-something sporting a Golden Girls T-shirt was loading film into her Minolta. Maybe we’re not extinct, just endangered.