As you can tell, though I am immersed in the technological, social media world, I am firmly grounded in a retro-vintage kind of realm.  My friend Elaina had made mention of this the other day, the irony of my new lifestyle.  I mean, I still have a land-line.  I buy minutes for my mobile phone at a gas station.  People ask me for my number, and I give my home number, forgetting that people don’t really call each other anymore.   I heard on CBC2 that apparently it is considered poor manners to leave a message on someone’s mobile voice mail.  Oh brother.  What is happening to the world that you can’t leave a meandering message?

I miss that…the phone ringing and the mindless gabbing.  I have one friend who does not have a mobile phone, and she even leaves me messages on my answering machine.  (I really appreciate that girlfriend!)

Though my career is becoming extremely internet dependent, I still yearn for the retro elements of past eras. I miss record stores, good manners, doctors recommending cigarettes, and rotary phones.  I used to own a fire engine red rotary phone, which I loved…you know, until you had to call a government agency and you had to, oh I don’t know…press one or something.  And then you find yourself screaming “I JUST WANT TO TALK TO A REAL PERSON” into your vintage phone.  Which is not look I was going for.

So, as it stands, the land line is feeling a bit shipwrecked.  There’s not a lot of incoming action.  The occasional long distance calls, and a lot of telemarketers and my mother.  Oh, and my one friend without a mobile phone.  The phone rang the other evening, and I was preparing myself to politely dismiss someone selling products direct from their office in a call center in the third world.  And then I realize that I am getting a text message.  Through the land line.  This happened once, the summer before, when I was living at my parent’s house.  Twice the phone rang, and a robot voice asked me if I could “possibly switch shifts”, and the other time to invite me to some “candle party”.  This must be nice for folks like Rosie from “The Jetsons“; times must be tough for futuristic characters whose present is not as futuristicy as once predicted in the past.  But I must admit, I have to wonder if the robots ever see the scripts and say…”I couldn’t possibly say that”.  For when I accepted the text through the phone, I was asked a most personal question.

“What kind of IUD do you use…copper or hormonal?”.

I’m sorry, but did a robot just call me to ask about my method of birth control? Can robots even get pregnant?  And…if it wasn’t a nosy Rosie calling me about the brand my uterus prefers, who would text me that?

Luckily, the caller had the good sense to send an email as well. And so a memorable conversation was carried on via instant message.

I offered the best advice I could, made recommendations with care.  And ultimately, I suggested that when the day came, to make sure you have a pashmina and large sunglasses for before, after, and hell, even during.  Because it’s dignified.  Because it’s a little bit ladylike. Just because it’s fabulous.  I’m kind of old school that way.

All Images Courtesy of Google