Life Goes On, Without T9

It’s a quarter to six in the evening, I’m struggling to concentrate on the research duties at hand and the appeal of a dining hall dinner is unfolding in my mind. My hypothalamus is reminding me that it’s time to call up my co-eating clan and get us to the fro-yo machine (and quesadilla night) on time.

This scene is standard for a healthy chunk of the collegiate crowd, unless you notice the word “call,” standing there like a fashion week gazelle wearing white after Labor Day. On most school evenings when I want to eat here or study there or meet you over yonder, I pick up my non-smart, non-text messaging Motorola, and listen for a live voice at the other end of the line. Such tendencies put me in an increasingly marginalized minority of multiple age groups.

A Ball State University study reported that 94% of college students engage in text messaging. I knew I was part of an out-crowd, but I did not foresee myself in a single-digit percentage. I should have expected this. At least once a week, I field questions from fellow students and the occasional adult about the horror of my ways. “What do you do if you don’t want to eat alone?” is my favorite inquiry, especially since it’s oft-delivered with a heightened sense of urgency and disbelief. Without airs or surprise I give away my secret: “I dial someone’s number or—better yet, I go knock on their door.”

This non-texting lifestyle was bestowed upon me by chance. Within my first year of being a cell phone owner (in high school, late by today’s standards), I was a random victim of mass text-ads sent out by a European company. After reversing the obscene amount of receiving charges, my father put a text-block on all of our phones. Five years later, I have never felt like I was missing out, technologically or socially. Whichever came first, my lack of texting or my old-fashioned appreciation for direct communication, is a chicken/egg dilemma not worth the debate. Regardless, I am one who appreciates a phone call, a face-to-face conversation, the ability to read body language and facial gestures. Now more than ever texting seems to be an extra source of neurosis I can live happier without. Sure, it may be handy when you spot Zach Braff downtown and need to discreetly make all of your friends aware of this fortunate sighting, but even then a colon-parentheses smiley face won’t convey the same thrill you’d emote in person.

I watch plenty of friends and strangers exude obscene amounts of stress over messages on a pixilated screen. With every ambiguously worded text from a member of the opposite sex I’m confronted with a worried: “What does he mean by, ‘Hey, what’s goin’ on’?” More cortisol is depleted during the hours some of my acquaintances spend crafting appropriate responses to these enigmatic one-liners. Then there’s the dreaded reality that technology is not perfect: a text could get lost in the SMS shuffle, that dinner invite could fall into the abyssal “Drafts” folder, one’s social life could cease to function. I have a Facebook and that keeps me consistently paranoid, I could only imagine what texting would do for my mental stability.

In response to all the naysayers and nonbelievers, I propose a challenge. Take one day, a sole twenty-four hour period, and don’t text. When your thumbs start itching to type, sit on one and use the other to call whomever it was you were about to contact. If someone initiates a potential texting exchange, call him or her in response. I guarantee that the exchanges will be more animated, more rewarding and more memorable than anything involving :) :( or LOL.