Saturday 30 April 2011

GET OFF THE PHONE - I'M MUCH MORE INTERESTING!

I decided, about three months ago, to get on Twitface or whatever it is.
Peer pressure.
Anyway, I then did nothing about it, and still haven't.
As someone of 'senior' years that gives me an opportunity to spot social interaction changes from a (sometimes bemused) more mature standpoint.

The one that strikes me the most is when I get on the tube (this day it was at Stanmore on the Jubilee line) although the behaviour is certainly evident on all lines! Virtually everybody is busy with their phones/Blackberry or whatever.

A recent encounter with an extremely attractive and haughty-looking brunette at Queensbury on the southbound line into town a couple of weeks ago went like this (edited version):

(Not shy)Me: What happens when somebody actually talks to you?
She: I beg your pardon?
(I repeat the question)
What do you mean?
Well, I say, how do you interract if somebody next to you actually says "hello" to you?
She (probably thinking I am pervy old man). Why would I want to talk to you?
Because I'm much more interesting, I say.
In what way (she doesn't realised that she's just taken the bait!).
Well, don't I look interesting? What do you think I do, I ask? Go, on guess?
(I am actually a record company exec and I am wearing black pinstripe suit with black brogues, red tie and socks).
Are you a lawyer?
Would you find that interesting, I ask?
Depends who you defend.
I only defend myself. When I have to.
Why would you need to do that?
What do you do, what's your name,I enquire (craftily avoiding answering her).
Kate. I'm a  department head at (tells me high street chain name).
Do you know [Chairman's name] I ask?
She (taken aback): I've met him.
What do you think of him?
Not very interesting. He's a slob.
Why, did he come on to you?
Nooo!! (She laughs like a drain).
Do you realise that we've been talking for the past 15 minutes and you've not once looked at your phone I say?
She beams.
Nice talking, isn't it, I say, getting off at Finchley Road to transfer to Metropolitan Line train to Moorgate.
She looks hugely disappointed at my departure...she doesn't even know what I do or my name.
Wouldn't it be wonderful, I muse, if all networks suddenly went down for an hour or so?