Ah, when fax machines were high-tech

To borrow from Jimmy Carter, I have lust in my heart. Lust to be a Luddite. Dare to dream that one day a meal could be had out that isn’t interrupted by a flashing blue light. A passion burns to return to an era where work stayed at work and only hard copies could follow home. Alas, the discipline needed to make such an occasion is not possessed by yours truly. Call it addiction or compulsion or devotion, my phone is never far.

For some it will be difficult to imagine a life that doesn’t involve being tethered; where instant reaction isn’t expected and communication isn’t through technology. But as much as it is now accepted part of everyday life – when the madness is, well, maddening – it was not always so.

In the embryo days of my career, home was Kapuskasing – a pulp mill town that still thrived but was beginning to show some wear around the edges. Queen’s Park, the seat of the provincial government in Ontario, sat some 10 hours down the end of Highway 11. So when requests for information were made, by telephone, the response was: “Sure, we will pop that into the mail for you.”

Then you waited. At the mercy of Canada Post, who then didn’t have the same reputation for prioritizing service as they do today. Fax machines, when they were introduced, seemed a wildly powerful tool for sharing information.

Now this pause in the search for truth may seem barbaric or quaint, depending on perspective, but there was also a benefit.

One of my journalism mentors was Bob Grainger, who always spoke, let’s call it forcefully, against letting new reporters write columns. “They don’t know shit from Shinola,” he would growl. “They shouldn’t be spouting off on the people they cover.” At the time, I thought he was being needlessly old-school – after all he was from the business side of the business. But the pause that came by having to check the mail each day or ensuring the person was at their desk when you called, allowed for reflection and an opportunity to unjumble all the information before putting out for consumption.

That’s a lesson I still apply to this day: take a breath, make sure whatever you’re going to say is correct and then go for it.

Tethering has advantages, for sure. The ability to connect when out of the office for a walk or coffee or a golf game – all of it is gold. But some people take the leash too far.

Now, I’m not most the gregarious guy, but on occasion conversation is good and should be encouraged and celebrated and, most importantly, reserved for the right venues.

But just because technology allows us to have conversations wherever and whenever we choose, doesn’t mean we should. Sitting in a waiting room is not one of them. The rest of us don’t want to hear your conversation, it’s simply not that interesting. We don’t want to relive the events of last night on the lash with you; we don’t really care about Fred’s rudeness at work; we can barely suffer through ‘okay, I’ll pick up the milk, anything else?’ Same rule applies on public transit or while you’re wandering around the downtown looking for new kicks. It’s your choice where to have these exchanges – so choose wisely.

Then there was the awkward moment this week where the fellow in the loo had his phone with him, at the urinal. Why? No one is so important that you’re taking that call at that moment. What could possess someone to stand there and have the screen glowing in use? Was it a sexting moment? Was he face timing someone to show the rash had cleared up? It’s a lesson to us all: don’t be that guy.

Technology has benefits. Twitter is a great broadcasting tool, Facebook keeps folks connected, Google settles many an argument at the local pub and I’m sure Snapchat is awesome.

The PVR is one of the greatest inventions – as an example there is no need to get up at 5 a.m. to watch the Manchester United match (though, in order to watch in real time, it means 90 minutes of not being able to surf for fear of having the score revealed).

It’s all about the balance. Try writing someone a letter, instead of an email. Use your voice, literally, and call that friend to reminisce. Make technology work for you, instead of working at its behest. And don’t always succumb to the flashing blue light. Now, excuse me, I’ve got to check my email.