||[Oct. 20th, 2013|09:55 am]
Some men in masks board an underground train. A woman is tracking them. They carry identical attache cases. Are they suicide bombers? They catch sight of her. She punches the alarm. All hell breaks loose.|
And my mother switches the TV off.
As I expected she would. Anything too fruity; click. Anything unfamiliar: click. Her remote, her rules.
"I don't know what that was," she says in an affronted tone.
"Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D" I say.
"How on earth do you know?"
"Because they just told us."
We've had variants on this conversation many times before. Only now there's a difference. It's not that she won't pay attention, it's that she can't.
I find it hard to accept that we've crossed that line.
Oh God, that sounds like me. My cell phone terrifies me. I refuse to use it. If it rings I hand it to Ailz.
This is partly technophobia, partly a deep-seated resentment at the way it impinges on my privacy. I hate the idea of people calling me when I'm out and about.
This is completely different from her. She WANTS to be able to use her cell phone. All of her friends have them, and she sees them talking and texting and wants to join in the fun! Some of her friends have smart phones, and those are completely out of the question for her.
I don't have a land line anymore. I only use my cell phone. I have the people that I know programed in, so if I get a call, if their names don't show up, I don't answer. If I don't know you, leave a message and tell me who you are, or I'm not going to talk to you.
I don't feel compelled to answer it every time it rings. I won't answer if I'm in the middle of a conversation with someone, or if I just don't feel like it. I feel like I am more in control with my cell phone, not less.
But that comes with being comfortable with the technology.
I'm going to look into that. She has now lost her phone all together.
I've never liked phones. I use them as little as possible. I hate carrying one around with me.