It’s not a real word, but it should be.
I wrote this story some years ago, but I realize it’s as relevant today as it was then, perhaps more.
Recently, Momo and I were standing in a rather long and slow line at a sandwich shop during the lunch hour. We were treated to the bizarre and ridiculous behavior of three millennial teenage women. I hate the term “millennial,” but I guess it’s better than calling them dumb as a bag of rocks, little twits.
Each girl had a cell phone in their hand, tapping away. The man in front of them placed his order, then continued tapping away on his phone. The guy taking his order had his phone in hand, tapping and waiting on his customer. The people behind us were tapping on their phones. Looking down the line toward the checkout, everyone was looking and tapping on their cell phone. This could have been a good “Twilight Zone” episode if Rod Serling had still been around.
I focused on these three and realized they were texting and sending messages and attachments to each other. There was no talking, just communication over the airwaves, mind-melding like Spock. One girl giggled, asking her friend,” Did he really say that to you?” Her friend giggled back. It’s odd how young women communicate with each other. Giggles, tongue clicks, half-spoken words, broken sentences, rolling of the eyes, flicking of the hair. It’s a secret language.
I watched them eat their lunch. All three are eating and tapping away on that damn device. No one looked up or spoke except to take a bite of a sandwich. Then, head down, continuing to tap-tap. Complete social breakdown. I wonder if they can write in cursive? Or do they print like most young people? Cursive is “our language”. Old timers know the value of the free-flowing wrist and a beautiful writing instrument, transposing our thoughts onto paper. These young ones just tap-tap-tap.
I shouldn’t be so hard on this twenty-something generation. After all, I am writing this on a laptop.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 