Old Busted Hotness just came back from a quick weekend in Atlantic City. Now I’ve been there many times, but this is the first time I have been on the inside of a club since way back in the middle ages. Yep, that’s right. The old gal went to a night club for young’uns (gasp, horror, shock!) Why? I had an interview right outside the club and then my PR guy asked me if I wanted to go in. I squared my shoulders and said, “Sure, why not?”
The music hit me like a sonic boom the moment the door swung open. It was dark with lights flashing and boy, oh boy, was it crowded with sweet young things looking for a date. Once I got used to the volume, the band wasn’t too bad. As I was scoping out the outfits (or lack of them), I noticed a new fashion accessory on almost all of the ladies. No, it wasn’t a scarf or a certain type of shoes or jewelry. It was. . . .a cell phone!
Now I know everybody has a cell phone in today’s world. I have one. Mine is even a smart phone, which is probably a waste on me. But there was a difference. My phone was in my purse. Every young person in the club had their phone in their hand. Well, that’s not exactly true. Some of them had them in their bra. They must have. Nobody’s boobs are shaped like that! I can understand why. It’s hard when you have one hand wrapped around a guy and the other wrapped around a drink. And you just can’t put that phone in your purse. You might miss something!
As I watched in utter amazement, I stared at young people attempting to establish relationships in this highly-charged atmosphere while talking to one person and texting another. I know multi-tasking is a plus and women are better at it than men, but.. . . can’t anybody spell r-u-d-e anymore?
The wild part of this game was that nobody seemed to mind. Relationships were being established, short or long term unknown, friendships were being made, dancing was being done, drinks were being consumed and, all the while, the phones never stopped. It truly boggled my mind!
In today’s crazy world your phone is very important. I get that. I use mine more than I ever thought I would. But how can you gaze lovingly into someone else’s eyes while you’re texting? The answer is you can’t. You can’t truly pay attention to someone else while you’re hitting those keys at the speed of light and checking for your next most-important-in-the-world message.
I walked out shaking my head, phone still securely tucked in my purse. Maybe it’s sour grapes on my part because nobody called or messaged me the whole time. Or maybe it’s just that Old Busted Hotness has lived too long. I doubt I’ll ever be comfortable talking to one person while texting another. Actually, I doubt I’ll ever have the manual dexterity combined with the number of brain cells necessary to do it! I guess the younger generation has a different genetic makeup. They must have a phone gene that some of us well over the age of consent are missing.
How, then, are we to play the Game of Phones? Or maybe a better question is. . . do we even want to?