I admit it. I can’t stand people who text in social settings. I especially get irritated when I see a group of people sitting together, and no one looks up because their faces are 12 inches away from a 5-inch screen. I see this as a symptom of a culture becoming more and more emotionally disconnected–and it’s just plain RUDE!
I was at a wedding reception this past Saturday, sitting at a table with my wife and daughter, along with several business colleagues, all of whom were friends of the groom. We were all laughing and sharing stories when I noticed something that caused me to stop laughing and having a good time. To my immediate left was a 20-something with her face glued to a Smartphone–just typing away–completely oblivious to her surroundings and to her own presence in this group of people.
My mind was filled with utter disdain for this young woman, and I felt my blood pressure rising, accompanied by a tightness in the pit of my stomach. Here we were at this wonderful wedding, engaged in various conversations and enjoying ourselves, and this person was ruining it for me. I could see other people at the table looking at her disapprovingly, and I decided that I would be the one to save the day and snap her out of her technologically-induced fog of anti-social behavior.
Without thinking it through, I thrust my hand towards her and said, “Hi! My name is Chris.” Still no acknowledgement. She didn’t even look up from her phone–she just kept tapping on that little plastic screen, which infuriated me all the more! I thought to myself, “Hel-LO!!! Earth to Texting Girl! Hello! Is anyone home???” Abandoning all attempts at social propriety, I leaned my head over until it was level with her Smartphone, and plastered a smile on my face, resolved to stay in that position until she noticed me.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally lifted her head up and looked at me, tentatively. I squared my body to hers, and again, extended my hand and introduced myself: “Hi. My name is Chris.” She shrugged and gave us all a fleeting glance and then returned to texting. At that point, I felt my annoyance intensifying and heading towards outrage.
Before I had a chance to say or do anything else, the young woman took my hand, slid her phone over to me, and pointed at the screen. It read: “Hi, my name is Francesca. I’m sorry for not noticing you. I was texting my husband from across the room. I don’t really know anyone here, and I’m deaf.”
I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. I frequently pride myself at being a skilled networker with a keen ability to help people relax in social settings, and here I was, unleashing my righteous indignation on a human being whose name I didn’t even know, much less her personal circumstances–and all based on a preconceived notion. Ironically, it was Francesca who noticed my discomfort, and managed to disarm me with a genuine, welcoming smile–not a fake, condescending smile like the one I’d given her just moments before.
Using her Smartphone, she typed out another message, telling me she was originally from Santiago, Chile, and is married to one of my business colleagues. She also told me she could read lips, and then motioned to my daughter, indicating she’d like to know more about her. I beamed with pride and told her all the tidbits a proud father has to say about his little girl. She smiled back and touched me softly on the hand, showing me a recent picture of her 4 month-old son.
We continued exchanging our digitally-assisted dialogue for a few more minutes. Eventually, I introduced her to the rest of the folks sitting at the table. She began conversing with each of them, and her Smartphone went flying around the table like a hockey puck, landing in the hands of each eager recipient. Soon thereafter, we were all laughing, taking pictures and sharing stories.
I learned something about myself that evening–about my preconceived notions and snap-judgments, of course; but perhaps even more significantly, I was reminded that, for all my highly-developed social skills, I am still a fallible human being, and just as capable of giving way to my shadow side (and negative emotions) as the next guy.
I’m so glad I had the opportunity to meet Francesca that night. It was an illuminating and humbling experience–and the irony of the situation was not lost on me–that a 5-inch, electronic piece of plastic, initially deemed so alienating and rude by all the people sitting at that table, was the very thing that ultimately brought everyone closer together.
