I don’t think of myself as a luddite. Quite the contrary.
Because technology suits me.
You see, I quite like being able to carry my phone with me, make calls to whomever I like, whenever I like, from wherever I am at any given time.
Equally, I like to use it as a tool of distraction which enables me to dodge conversation. That woman in the park with her horrible little dog wants to strike up a gossip session. Can’t do that when I’m busy on the phone – that would be rude.
It’s also useful. If I’m bitten by a snake in the park and I’ve forgotten my torniquet technique, I reach for the phone, call 000 and hope for the best. And if I’ve forgotten my phone, the next person to come along will have one.
Morbid? Maybe. But I’m a pragmatist. Before the telephone came along, you’d be hoping that next person who came along was a medic.
It’s not only the woman in the park I don’t have to speak to when I’m not in an overly conversant mood.
When I want a taxi ride, I don’t have to utter a word, no need for small talk, courteous greetings, farewells. Not a peep required.
I might say “please”, “thank you”, “have a nice day”, but only because my dear old grandmother might strike me from the heavens with a lightning bolt if I didn’t.
The point is, they know where I’m going because I’ve punched it into a little machine. I’ve already paid, so there’s no transaction. I get out at the other end, slam the door and keep walking. In days gone by there’d be sirens blaring, accompanied by accusations of fare evasion.
Similarly, I can order food, have it dropped at the front door. Not a word spoken. Happy days. I can pick it up at a hole in the wall, tell them my name and it’s all ready for me.
Yes, technology suits me. I do however, have friends frightened by it.
They’re the type of people who enjoy sparking a chat with the person in front of them at the checkout aisle in the supermarket.
I’ve told one of my acquaintances he’s going to have to be careful. One day I saw him trying to strike up a conversation with a woman in her 30s who was about to pay for her grocery shopping. Looking for a topic, he picked out a grocery item.
“That looks delicious,” he said of a tub of ice cream.
No. No. No. You can’t do that, I told him. To comment on someone’s grocery items is like going through the neighbour’s bin. Don’t do it. Ever.
“Why so?” he asked.
“Well, remember when you were young? Did you ever sneak a packet of condoms into your grocery shopping that you didn’t want anyone except perhaps your wife or girlfriend to know about?” I said.
“Imagine if some old person came up behind you and started commenting on your Cornflakes. You’d be concerned.”
I do digress, but technology takes away a lot of confusion. My mate risks political incorrectness every time he opens his mouth – at the cashier, buying a Scratchie, ordering his meat from the butcher. Everything’s a risk for this ageing soul because he doesn’t know when he might be stepping over boundaries that got fenced off in the 1950s.
So I told him. Get a phone, old man. Load some apps. Shop online, and shut your mouth. Take yourself away from situations you could be considered a creepy old man. I’d say the option was to develop an understanding of modern decorum, but most of me seriously believes that’s beyond him.
Then he reminded me of the Optus hack, told me that too much technology opened the way for identity theft, let people in so they could open bank accounts, take out loans using my property as collateral, put insurance through my accounts, and travel the world with my details and a fake passport photo.
He’s inappropriate. But not stupid.
Hey Wanda, have you seen my phone lying around? I’ve got to delete everything all those apps. All except Sudoku.
