We cannot see the interviewer. We can hear only his friendly and easy going voice. We can see the interviewed people's face. Nice people of different age groups. They are listening with a half-amused and half-incredulous expression, as if they were unable to conceive that the proposal is a real one. Of course it isn't, it must be necessarily a joke, who could accept such an absurd challenge?
The interviewer is proposing them to live a whole day without their mobile phone. The precious and indispensable device would remain in their hands, but locked in a kind of small safe with a code, which can be revealed only at the end of the fateful day.
They all shake their head in denial, opening their eyes wide. Oh, but many of them adore surges of adrenaline provoked by extreme challenges. They would be ready to jump from a tall structure while connected to a large elastic cord or to whirl and roll round inside an attraction of an absurd theme park, like wet socks into a spin-dryer. They would accept to be closed into a transparent theca full of coleopters and even to be parachuted on a desert tropical island, infested by all sort of mosquitos. But surviving a whole day without their cell phone…Ah, no way, too much is too much!
Only a young man, surely very brave, after a painful hesitation, accepts the terrible endurance test.
Twenty-four hours later we watch him again, stressed and morally exhausted. He's allowed to open the small safe and to keep his mobile in his hand once again. He smiles with the relief of the wayfarer lost in the desert, who finally sees an oasis. The ordeal is over.
Here in my cave, I can rely on some modern comforts, and occasionally–even though not too often– I might even give a quick look at various TV programs. I watched that rather silly documentary for a few minutes and then my eyes turned to my mobile phone– supposed to be even smart–which was, as always, on the top of the printer, on the left of my desk. It was slightly dusty. A veil of light dust, like powder, which mercilessly settles on everything every day. The little device never moves from its place. When I go out, it remains always there. People have yielded before the fact that it's quite useless to call me in order to get a sudden answer. I can be anywhere, but my cell stays at home.
If I had been asked if I could survive a whole day without my smart phone, my answer would have been "Just a day? Where is the difficulty?"
However I had a liking for public telephone boxes, when they still existed. I cherish my memories connected with public telephone boxes in different countries. Calling home needed always a relatively accurate procedure. One had to find a working public phone first and then to have an adequate number of coins. I certain countries, the public phones didn't accept coins either, but they wanted only a sort of bizarre token, which one could buy only in specific places, which had the bad habit to be often already closed late in the evening, when one might need to make a call.
As young student abroad I became soon familiar with collect calls or reverse charge calls. At that remote time human operators still existed and it was thrilling to get in touch with them to get an operator-assisted call. As a matter of fact it was a real adventure to make myself understood with them at first, then I heard them speaking to my mother, who understood them even less. I tried hard to cover their voice, shouting "Mum, it's me. Say 'YES', say 'YES', mum!" Finally I could speak to home, after a few hectic minutes. Everything more or less difficult gives much more satisfaction in being accomplished.
I'm old enough to have a foot in the last century and another one in this century. I'm lucky. I have experienced directly things which are obsolete by now, but I have managed to learn new things which have taken their places too. I have been in places which don't exist anymore. But this is another story…
I liked public telephone boxes, because they were also in the most bizarre places. One felt a little like an explorer discovering them in unusual locations. I couldn't help making calls from there, when I found one. I remember that once there was a public telephone on the top of San Marco bell tower, in San Marco square, Venice. When I speak of Venice, of course it's the ONE and the ONLY, in Italy.
Another time I called home from a public phone on a pier in Key West, Florida, which was supposed to be the closest phone to Cuba.
I don't know why I was so fascinated by public phone boxes. I found them appealing also aesthetically, even though they were usually quite dirty and often receptacle of a superabundance of stickers of advertising for extravagant sexual businesses.
One of my more nostalgic memories about phone boxes is connected with Ireland. We were somewhere in County Mayo, I think. I remember the phone box as if it was in front of my eyes right now; it was painted in two colours, cream and green.
I pushed the door and in total astonishment (I'm old, but not SO old…) I realized that the telephone was made of…wood. There was not any slot for coins. But there was a crank. What would have you done at my place? I turned the crank. Nearly immediately I heard a kind female voice who told me I don't know what. I was so surprised that my average knowledge of English suddenly dropped. I managed to tell the lady that I had lost completely the track and she tried patiently to repeat her questions. Hopelessly… Finally she, trying to articulate every word clearly and slowly told me "Can you see, on your left, across the road a grocer's shop, which has also the Post Office sign? Yes? Fine! And now can you see through the window a person waving at you? Excellent! It's me. Come here. Speaking face to face will be easier for you."
So I left the telephone box, crossed the road and got into the grocer's, which was the only shop of the village and included also the Post Office and the operator centre. The lady was in charge for all the three activities. She had a round face sprinkled with freckles and a high, rather convex forehead. I still remember her eyes after–hum, let me see– after 30 years at least. She was right. Face to face it was easier for me. I wrote on a piece of paper the number I needed to call. The lady explained to me that I had to go back to the telephone box across the street and wait for a ring, and then I could pick up the receiver and speak.
"But before that, my child, if you are not in a hurry, you might take a cup of tea with me…"
I have never been too fond of tea, I'm a coffee person, but obviously I accepter that so sweet and unexpected invitation.
And I'm happy I did.
The interviewer is proposing them to live a whole day without their mobile phone. The precious and indispensable device would remain in their hands, but locked in a kind of small safe with a code, which can be revealed only at the end of the fateful day.
They all shake their head in denial, opening their eyes wide. Oh, but many of them adore surges of adrenaline provoked by extreme challenges. They would be ready to jump from a tall structure while connected to a large elastic cord or to whirl and roll round inside an attraction of an absurd theme park, like wet socks into a spin-dryer. They would accept to be closed into a transparent theca full of coleopters and even to be parachuted on a desert tropical island, infested by all sort of mosquitos. But surviving a whole day without their cell phone…Ah, no way, too much is too much!
Only a young man, surely very brave, after a painful hesitation, accepts the terrible endurance test.
Twenty-four hours later we watch him again, stressed and morally exhausted. He's allowed to open the small safe and to keep his mobile in his hand once again. He smiles with the relief of the wayfarer lost in the desert, who finally sees an oasis. The ordeal is over.
Here in my cave, I can rely on some modern comforts, and occasionally–even though not too often– I might even give a quick look at various TV programs. I watched that rather silly documentary for a few minutes and then my eyes turned to my mobile phone– supposed to be even smart–which was, as always, on the top of the printer, on the left of my desk. It was slightly dusty. A veil of light dust, like powder, which mercilessly settles on everything every day. The little device never moves from its place. When I go out, it remains always there. People have yielded before the fact that it's quite useless to call me in order to get a sudden answer. I can be anywhere, but my cell stays at home.
If I had been asked if I could survive a whole day without my smart phone, my answer would have been "Just a day? Where is the difficulty?"
However I had a liking for public telephone boxes, when they still existed. I cherish my memories connected with public telephone boxes in different countries. Calling home needed always a relatively accurate procedure. One had to find a working public phone first and then to have an adequate number of coins. I certain countries, the public phones didn't accept coins either, but they wanted only a sort of bizarre token, which one could buy only in specific places, which had the bad habit to be often already closed late in the evening, when one might need to make a call.
As young student abroad I became soon familiar with collect calls or reverse charge calls. At that remote time human operators still existed and it was thrilling to get in touch with them to get an operator-assisted call. As a matter of fact it was a real adventure to make myself understood with them at first, then I heard them speaking to my mother, who understood them even less. I tried hard to cover their voice, shouting "Mum, it's me. Say 'YES', say 'YES', mum!" Finally I could speak to home, after a few hectic minutes. Everything more or less difficult gives much more satisfaction in being accomplished.
I'm old enough to have a foot in the last century and another one in this century. I'm lucky. I have experienced directly things which are obsolete by now, but I have managed to learn new things which have taken their places too. I have been in places which don't exist anymore. But this is another story…
I liked public telephone boxes, because they were also in the most bizarre places. One felt a little like an explorer discovering them in unusual locations. I couldn't help making calls from there, when I found one. I remember that once there was a public telephone on the top of San Marco bell tower, in San Marco square, Venice. When I speak of Venice, of course it's the ONE and the ONLY, in Italy.
Another time I called home from a public phone on a pier in Key West, Florida, which was supposed to be the closest phone to Cuba.
I don't know why I was so fascinated by public phone boxes. I found them appealing also aesthetically, even though they were usually quite dirty and often receptacle of a superabundance of stickers of advertising for extravagant sexual businesses.
One of my more nostalgic memories about phone boxes is connected with Ireland. We were somewhere in County Mayo, I think. I remember the phone box as if it was in front of my eyes right now; it was painted in two colours, cream and green.
I pushed the door and in total astonishment (I'm old, but not SO old…) I realized that the telephone was made of…wood. There was not any slot for coins. But there was a crank. What would have you done at my place? I turned the crank. Nearly immediately I heard a kind female voice who told me I don't know what. I was so surprised that my average knowledge of English suddenly dropped. I managed to tell the lady that I had lost completely the track and she tried patiently to repeat her questions. Hopelessly… Finally she, trying to articulate every word clearly and slowly told me "Can you see, on your left, across the road a grocer's shop, which has also the Post Office sign? Yes? Fine! And now can you see through the window a person waving at you? Excellent! It's me. Come here. Speaking face to face will be easier for you."
So I left the telephone box, crossed the road and got into the grocer's, which was the only shop of the village and included also the Post Office and the operator centre. The lady was in charge for all the three activities. She had a round face sprinkled with freckles and a high, rather convex forehead. I still remember her eyes after–hum, let me see– after 30 years at least. She was right. Face to face it was easier for me. I wrote on a piece of paper the number I needed to call. The lady explained to me that I had to go back to the telephone box across the street and wait for a ring, and then I could pick up the receiver and speak.
"But before that, my child, if you are not in a hurry, you might take a cup of tea with me…"
I have never been too fond of tea, I'm a coffee person, but obviously I accepter that so sweet and unexpected invitation.
And I'm happy I did.
