This post, my first, is to honor the Good Samaritan who returned my cell phone after I left it in a cab on the way out for drinks after seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of As You Like It at the Park Avenue Armory this past Sunday. Phew! "Ripeness is all," but context is hard.
As you might know (and NOT like it) dealing with anybody's wireless customer service is a huge, time-devouring drag. So you can imagine my delight upon waking up next morning feeling the effects of four (or more) martinis to find an email informing me that some paragon of humanity had found my cellie and wanted to get it to me. An occurrence subsequently made that much sweeter by said paragon's Fedexing it to me out of town and refusing any compensation. The only niggling fly in the ointment was the suprisingly nagging question of how he got my e-mail address, since my phone is definitely not "smart." Is my identity that easily "hacked?" And for that matter, did the kindess arise from the fact that I only have about 20 contacts in my address book, and that my phone is not only not smart, but not remotely cool, or on-trend? Did my phone speak volumes about the kind of sad hermitude that must accompany the possession of such a minimal phone -- the kind of phone that says "only for emergencies!" In other words, was returning it less kindness than techno-pity?
And I have to admit that as I sat in the bar that night swigging Ketel One and watching every single other (younger) person intently basking in the light of their handheld devices it occurred to me that if these people had misplaced their iPhones and Sidekicks and such, they would be shellshocked, wandering around in a daze, not knowing where to turn or what to do. My biggest inconvenience was having to ask the bartender to call me a car. And I also have to mention that the Good Samaritan's email was from Barclay's Bank -- so perhaps the cost of the Fedex was not as big a sting to him as it might have been to me.
So, this is pretty much the context of this blog -- one that is definitely NOT about my parents Depression upbringing in that their expectations did not include any kind of technology, or top shelf vodka 0r hired cars and drivers or overnight delivery. But it is about wondering if maybe it's as simple as...simplifying...giving those things up. Or if probably it's not. But I swear -- with easily as much honor and credibility as any of the sterling characters who are running this great country of ours -- we're going to find out, starting now.