Ping! This doesn’t get me to sing

A YOUNG person’s cellphone is the love of their life: the last thing seen before they sleep and the first upon waking. Ask me about my phone and I’ll tell you there is little love lost between us.

I miss the days when phones were not mobile but rooted in the earth. I miss rushing to answer a ringing phone. I miss the chats I used to have with people who hadn’t phoned to speak to me.

BC (Before Cellphones) when you answered the phone it was within accepted etiquette to enquire as to the well-being of the person who had called. This could often turn into a quick conversation. That is what communication used to be about: connections, both planned and serendipitous.

There is no serendipity with Caller ID. My ears rarely prick with anticipation at the sound of my phone ringing. Because it rarely rings. It mostly pings.

Audio settings on phones now are not only – or even mainly – about ringing. They are part of a new field known as Notifications. The entire interaction can now be voice-free, due to the unfortunate trend of typing on your phone instead of talking into it.

I speak on the phone with my friends and family far less than I used to. I mostly see their messages. Often riddled with typos, misspelling, bad grammar and silly abbreviations. Or no words, just little faces and thumbs pointing up or down.

Subtle

When it comes to personalising your ping, there are few loud sounds to choose from. People want to be notified of a new message immediately, regardless of whether they are at work or in bed with a loved one. Hence they prefer their Notification Alert sounds soft and subtle.

I miss the continuous loud ringing of an old-fashioned phone. Which you can choose to set as your cellphone’s ringtone. This is a popular option with older people. But it defeats the purpose of a personalised ring if every greyhair in sight jumps at the sound of the same Vintage Ringtone.

It seems as if the concept of instant spoken communication is now passé. You say, I say, in real time – that’s history. Now it’s You send a message, I text back.

Due to all of the above, my phone no longer represents the potential of a warm, friendly human voice in my ear, ideally of someone I know and like. What my phone now signals is duty. A ping is a thing that does not make my heart sing. For it means I will be forced to thumb-type a reply.

Not that I am anti-typing. Quite the contrary. As an experienced high-speed typist, I am rather fond of putting digits to keyboard. All 10 of them. I was well trained in high school typing class and am proud of my WPM (Words Per Minute).

I hear they no longer teach handwriting at school, so I don’t know if typing is still taught. It is probably considered “intuitive”. Studies have undoubtedly shown that apes, when handed a cellphone, instinctively apply their opposable thumbs.

My problem is not the no-fingers typing as much as the keyboard. Despite what the name would imply, few cellphones have a proper board with keys. Their miniscule on-screen keyboards are barely wide enough to accommodate two thumbs.

My disappointment over digital communications is not so much about the annoyance of texting. It’s more about missing the speaking part. Which used to be integral to phoning. I don’t like that the expectation is now to send a message – that phoning is unnecessary.

My New Old Self still needs to phone. In the time it would take me to clumsily thumb-type a message, press Send and wait for delivery, I could just dial the number. And then eagerly anticipate the voice.

Sadly, even if I make the effort to dial and speak, my call will often go unanswered. Voicemail then instructs me – wait for it – “Don’t leave a voice message, rather send a text.”

Visit the blog My New Old Self: What to do next for the rest of my life, at www.mynewoldself.com.