Travails of Texting

I resisted cell phones for a long time. Long, long time. I didn't get one until about four years ago. And then only because the office I worked for actually bought one. I thought they were ridiculous and the people that used them equally so. As my father used to say, "He must be important. He has a cell phone."

Of course, now I'm addicted. How did we find each other in movie theatre lobbies? In crowded clubs? In parking lots? How did we order pizza when driving in from out of town? How did we call NPR while sitting in traffic jams outside of Detroit? Or maybe that's just me.

I also resisted texting. Equally ridiculous, with a side of juvenile. Who texts? High school kids and people with MySpace pages. Certainly not anyone I know. Nor anyone my age. Why text when you can actually call someone and say something to them like a normal human being?

Well, for the same reason that I send emails to my secretary when she's sitting approximately 10 feet away: because I don't want to deal with her.

There isn't any way around it. Texting is ridiculous and juvenile. But it is like sending emails--there is some form of disconnect there. You can say things in texts that you would absolutely never, ever say to someone's face. As examples, recent texts from my phone:

"Why be disturbed, you are a deviant like me."

"Oh, I'll stick with speechless."

"U have to buy me dinner first."

"Bullshit called on that one."

"You look great in that skirt."

And those are ones that I got. Don't ask what I sent out in order to get those responses. Please don't.

Texts remind me of when we first started playing with email, in college. We all had email accounts where I went to school--campus accounts where you could send messages to anyone on campus. And this was twelve, thirteen years ago. We'd flirt over email, sending stupid little messages that the other person might not ever even get, since not everyone even checked their email accounts at that point. And we had no idea that, someday, those same types of emails could be saved and used against us in a sexual harassment lawsuit or as a reason to fire us for working on personal business on company time. Not that any of us do that.

We're assuming, at this point, that these texts disappear into nothingness at some point. And, God, I certainly hope so. Because we need to enjoy this kind of anonymity to some degree. We need to have this method of telling people things we're too afraid to tell them to their face or saying in front of other people. That they do look good in that skirt. That they shouldn't be sitting next to that slut at the bar. That they're wearing thigh-high stockings. That the plan is to ditch what's his face before heading to the next bar. That they kiss amazingly, incredibly well.

Because I'm relatively certain that I don't want my employer to know any of that crap about me. Other than the good kisser stuff.