Working the Phones

By Richmond Talbot

My father, who passed away last week at the age of 97, taught me to mow tall grass with a scythe. You don’t swing it with your arms; you hold the blade at the proper height and twist from the waist with a smooth, easy motion.  You conserve energy because the tool was perfected before the invention of the mowing machine, and a man might have to use it all day.

Someone taught my father the skill, and he passed it on to me as something I should not grow to manhood without. I’m thinking of this because today I had to program a new telephone.  Being a fogey I didn’t find it easy, but I read the instructions carefully and set out early in the morning when I was rested and calm.

I’d done this before, but telephones are not the durable instruments they were in the days when I learned to mow.  You lifted the receiver, and the operator said, “Number please.”  You told her the number, and she got it for you.  When the dial system came in, my grandmother read the instructions.  They didn’t make a lot of sense, and when she wanted to make a call she walked over to my house. I went back with her and dialed the number, and she paid me a dime.  I offered to teach her the technique, but she felt it was beyond her abilities.  She made a superb apple pie but dialing was not for her.

What she lacked was confidence, and I tried to be confident when I programmed the phone.  The instructions were sketchy.  There was something about telling the phone your area code so it could recognize local calls. I thought that might be a good thing, but when I put down the booklet I lost the place and decided it wasn’t necessary.

I entered the date and time.  I’m good at that.  Even my camera knows the date and time.  I made what the booklet called an announcement telling people that I was out and they could leave a message.  I had to press 5 to indicate the announcement was complete.  I had to check the booklet because I couldn’t remember what number to use, and there was too long a pause before the beep.

OK, I could delete the announcement and leave another.  The second time there was an audible intake of breath before the announcement, and I sounded anxious and tired, which by then I was.  Someday I’ll leave another message that sounds jaunty and casual, but for now this one works just fine.

Besides recognizing calls from my area code, there are a lot of things my new phone can do that I haven’t taken advantage of.  It can remember numbers I often call and dial them when I select them from a list.  My oldest grandchild is six and a little shaky in her spelling so it’s too soon for her to program it for me, but there’s hope for the years ahead.  For now I’ll do things the old fashioned way.

I thought I’d get the car washed so it wouldn’t disgrace me in my father’s funeral procession.  The gas pump offered me a discount if I had the car washed, and I told it I’d like that.  The screen at the car wash asked me for a code, which it turned out was on the receipt I got at the pump.  I was glad there was no impatient customer waiting behind me as I figured out what to do.

I seem to be spending more and more time communicating with machines, and each new encounter involves something to be learned.  I remember my grandmother and try to brace up.  I wonder what skills my grandchildren will need to learn when their hair is gray and fogiedom is upon them.

The scythe I used hangs upon a wall.  It is really a beautiful object, although a little frightening with its long curved blade.  I think it belonged to my great grandfather, although that is one of the many things I never asked my father when he was alive.  A few swipes with a sharpening stone and it might mow again, but actually it’s just a relic of the past as obsolete as a rotary phone.