The phone is ringing, and I don’t know what to do. I try pushing what I think is the “Talk” button, but somehow that opens my e-mail. When I try to go backward, I start a game of Brick Breaker. The call rolls over to voicemail, which is worse, because I don’t know how to check that either. Last time I tried, I took three photos of my hand.I got a Blackberry. It seemed like such a good idea at the time- so sleek and stylish, filled with little technological wonders that would change my life in unexpected ways. And it has. I am no longer capable of answering the telephone, a skill I guess I’ve just taken for granted for the last quarter century.
Last night I came home, and apologized to my fiancée for not returning his call earlier in the day.
“Oh, you did,” he said. “You just didn’t realize it. About an hour later I got a call from you, but you were driving and singing along to the new Madonna. I kept yelling your name, but you were really into the song, so I just let you sing for a while and then I hung up.”
That is really distressing. I can’t have my phone calling people without my knowledge. It’s one thing for Preppy to catch me warbling about the four minutes I have to save the world, but what if it decides to call my mother while Slutty Mandy and I are swapping sex stories?
“Just lock the keypad,” says Preppy, a Blackberry veteran.
“Um, yeah, I have no idea what that means.”
“Didn’t your phone come with an instruction manual?”
“Well of course it did, but really baby, who has the time?”
I hate instruction manuals. They feel like school. When something new is introduced to my life, I want it to integrate seamlessly, without any hassle. I always report that I learn best by doing things on my own, which is true. There’s just usually a lengthy period of humiliating failure before I actually learn how to do it.
I’ve been attending an Episcopal church of late, which is similar to my own Methodist upbringing, so I can generally play along without much trouble. The prayers they recite are slightly different, so whenever we get to a part I don’t know I just mumble. I’ve been offering up eloquent tributes to our Creator like:
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, ma moo hum hooba Earth, and in Jesus Christ, hee hidey ho la la.”
I know God understands that my heart is in the right place. They offer classes at the church where they apparently teach you the intended words, but I haven’t gone. There’s an actual book right there in the pew with every word printed, but nobody else is using the instruction manual, so I feel like I’d stand out. I really wanna do this on my own- just last Sunday I figured out how to perch my behind on the pew when on the little kneeling thing so I wouldn’t fall into the person next to me.
It was a major breakthrough.
Last night, after Preppy stopped impersonating me singing “I’m outta time and all I got is fo’ minutes… fo’ minutes,” he showed me how to call my sister, who I hadn’t talked to in two days because I didn’t know how. She was doing laundry.
“Which is ALL I do now,” she said. “We’re trying to potty train Jack and he’s not really cooperating with the process. He’s going through like five pairs of underwear a day. I am not amused. All the books say this is supposed to be a natural process, take away the diapers and he’ll get the hint. But all he knows is that when he goes like he used to, he ends up with wet underwear and gets all pissed off. Then he just does it again a few hours later. I try to teach him, but he doesn’t want my help.”
My nephew is learning a lesson I’ve picked up on myself lately- introducing new behavior can be very messy and frustrating. If you insist on doing it all on your own, you gotta accept the mess and stick with it until you know what you’re doing.
I tried to tell my sister that, but I accidentally hung up on her and took another picture of my hand.
Last night, after Preppy stopped impersonating me singing “I’m outta time and all I got is fo’ minutes… fo’ minutes,” he showed me how to call my sister, who I hadn’t talked to in two days because I didn’t know how. She was doing laundry.
“Which is ALL I do now,” she said. “We’re trying to potty train Jack and he’s not really cooperating with the process. He’s going through like five pairs of underwear a day. I am not amused. All the books say this is supposed to be a natural process, take away the diapers and he’ll get the hint. But all he knows is that when he goes like he used to, he ends up with wet underwear and gets all pissed off. Then he just does it again a few hours later. I try to teach him, but he doesn’t want my help.”
My nephew is learning a lesson I’ve picked up on myself lately- introducing new behavior can be very messy and frustrating. If you insist on doing it all on your own, you gotta accept the mess and stick with it until you know what you’re doing.
I tried to tell my sister that, but I accidentally hung up on her and took another picture of my hand.
