Mom, No Phone: Why It Feels Like Losing an Arm
- Not far from the bench on which I was sitting, were newspaper boxes.
- It's not that they are going to exclaim: "ah well that's it, grandpa" or again: "whoah, mami, your story about the newspaper box and the Morning headline is...
- I didn't have a screen to hide behind, my thumbs were inert, the bus wasn't coming.
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The Vanishing Newspaper Box: A Moment of Reflection
Table of Contents
The Scene: A Rainy Wait
We were in Geneva last weekend. It was raining. I was waiting for the bus at Conches place. Not far from the bench on which I was sitting, were newspaper boxes. They were active – paper inside and cuffs dangling outside. we still find it normal, newspaper boxes on every street corner.We don’t realise that in a few years, when our grandchildren ask us what it was like in our time and we talk about those famous newspaper boxes, their neural circuits won’t even blink.
It’s not that they are going to exclaim: “ah well that’s it, grandpa” or again: “whoah, mami, your story about the newspaper box and the Morning headline is crazy”. These young people will not exclaim anything at all, because they will lack the mental space required to visualize the very principle of the printed newspaper. But let’s save these bitternesses for last.
Also read: “I’m tired of Instagram controlling my life!”
A Moment of Discomfort and Reflection
So I was at the Conches place bus stop. My phone was dead. I didn’t have a screen to hide behind, my thumbs were inert, the bus wasn’t coming. In front of me, there was only wet concrete, residential trees on drip, the cars were ugly, it was bleak and it was gray. I told myself that if I didn’t act quickly, it was going to be an anxiety attack. I got up. I moved an arm then a leg.I spun around a little, sat down again, I cracked one wrist, then another, I got up, I tried a tai chi hold, I spun around again but this time in a counterclockwise direction. And it was at that moment, in a certain state of fragility, that I said to myself, but why not.
Why Not?
why not, instead of complaining all day long, complaining about these young people who behave awkwardly on the bus and who put their shoes on the seat, wouldn’t I also get involved? I also said to myself, why not stop my lamentations about the decline of our democracy and support, if only once, these journalists and these newspapers that no one reads anymore? Why not?
Without procrastinating any further, I approached the newspaper boxes. I checked my pockets, went through my things, gathered the equivalent of a fortune and inserted it all into one of the coin slots. I lifted the Plexiglas, grabbed the Morning Sunday and, moved by this gesture of solidarity, I resettled at the Conches place stop.