I met up with a couple of friends for Fourth of July. We were knocking back drinks at a local bar and catching up on each others lives. The food was great and the service was awesome. The sky was pale orange with a hint of lavender clouds that signaled dusks arrival. A great end of another Hawaiian day. Enter SMS.
With the growing anticipation of the upcoming firework show we hurriedly moved from one conversation to the next. Tried to at least. One of my friends, lets call her TW. TW for text whore. TW made it extremely difficult for the party to get through conversations. At times, her phone became more important than spoken discussion. TW claimed that she was multitasking, responding to messages and partaking in the trios confab.
FYI, unless you’re juggling five rabid squirrels and whistling the Juicy Fruit jingle while riding a rusty unicycle, you’re not multitasking. You’re just switching from one task to another. Which is what I informed TW. TW snapped back profanities and evil looks. Something common in my daily routine. Life is difficult when you’re right.
Definition of Irony: The tool created to bring us closer has become the device that brings us closer to detachment.