Going Old School

Ah, the joys of modern technology! As a 65-year-old writer who has fully embraced the digital age, I rely on my trusty iPhone for everything—from jotting down brilliant ideas to ordering my beloved wife’s iced coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. But the other day, I found myself thrust back into the early 1990’s, fumbling through a world where payphones were as common as a good cup of coffee. Spoiler alert: they’re not.

It all began innocently enough. I had a busy day ahead, packed with errands and the all-important task of caffeinating my wife and myself. As I drove quickly but safely—sort of—I felt a strange emptiness in my soul. I looked around the car for my cell phone and couldn’t find it anywhere. I used my car’s Bluetooth audio system to connect to my phone, but the phone was “not recognized.” My phone! I had left it at home, sitting comfortably on my bed as I hurriedly dressed for a meet-up with a friend. I could see it now; my cell phone was lying on the bed, probably laughing at my misfortune. But I was determined. After all, I had a calendar, a brain, and a vague recollection of how to navigate the world without Google Maps. What could possibly go wrong?

After driving ten miles or so to meet my friend, I arrived on time, without getting pulled over. “Whew.” I parked the car and perused the massive parking lot looking for my friend’s black Mercedes SUV. No sign of his car. He was late, which is unusual for him. I had no way to reach him, and I began to wonder if I had accidentally stepped into a time warp. Back in the '90s, I’d wait patiently for my friend to show up, but now, the absence of my phone felt like a gaping hole in my life. I grew impatient waiting at least 15 minutes in case he was running late, and tried calling or texting me to wait for him.

After the incredibly long 15-minute wait, which seemed like an hour, I decided to look around the shopping center for a pay phone. “Surely there must be a payphone nearby!” I chuckled at the thought. A payphone? In South Florida? I might as well have been searching for a woolly mammoth.

I drove around the shopping center looking for this relic of a device that took quarters the last time I used one—“I wonder if they take dollar coins now?”, I said aloud—checking a gas station in the plaza, and even a delightful café that I made a mental note to visit—if I ever found my phone again. I scanned the strip center like a hawk, but all I saw were shop after shop with no sign of Ma Bell throwing me a lifeline. I then came to grips with the reality of the 21^st century. “What’s the point of having a phone booth if no one uses it anymore?” I muttered under my breath, realizing I had become so dependent on my smartphone that the concept of a payphone felt like a vestige of a bygone era.

After waiting for what felt like an eternity and striking out on the Unicorn device that used to house more germs than an antibiotic research center, I decided to move on to my next adventure. Defeated, but not broken, at least I still had my trusty car, with satellite radio, and my sense of humor. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how I would’ve handled this in the early '90s. Probably with a lot more patience and a much lower expectation of immediate communication.

As I drove home, I pulled into the neighborhood Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up some morning Java for the Misses and me. My wife is particular about her iced coffee, and I was a little anxious about guessing the right amount of caramel and cream without the aid of my Dunkin' app. I parked and confidently strutted into the store, determined to wing it. The barista greeted me with a friendly smile, and I immediately felt out of my depth. “Uh, I’d like two iced coffees, please. One with... um... how many pumps of caramel did she like again?”

I paused, racking my brain. “Four? No, three? Maybe five?” I settled on five pumps of caramel, and a shot-in-the-dark guess at the number of pumps of cream. I knew my lovely Bride would drink whatever I brought home, but I am a perfectionist at heart and wanted to get the exact beverage.

As I waited for the drinks to be made, I contemplated whether I’d even gotten close. I began to second-guess myself, but realized it was too late. What’s done is done. You ain’t puttin’ the Genie back in the bottle.

The coffee was in hand, but my heart raced at the thought of facing my wife’s scrutiny. I could almost hear her asking, “Five pumps? Did you forget how much I like?”

Arriving home, I presented the iced coffee like a knight returning from battle. “I hope you like it!” I said, bracing myself for her reaction. She said, “It looks a little darker than usual,” then proceeded to take a sip. To my surprise, she said, “Not bad! But next time, a little more cream and a little less caramel. I sighed in relief, a small victory in my day of chaos.

Feeling a bit proud of myself, I decided to text my friend to check in. “Hey! Where were you?” I typed out with a grin, only to remember once again that my phone was at home. The irony was not lost on me. I could have texted him from the shopping center to find out he didn’t even show up. Instead, I had to wait until I got home to receive his apologetic message. “Sorry, I forgot. Didn’t put it on my calendar.”

A moment of realization hit me: I had remembered the meeting because I had put it on my Apple calendar, and yet here I was, without the very device that kept me organized.

As I settled into my chair that evening, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a tech-savvy individual forced to confront my reliance on a small rectangular device. It was almost poetic, the way life had a way of reminding us of our roots. I thought back to my youth when life was simpler and yet somehow more complicated.

So, what did I learn from my day of going “old school”? Perhaps it’s that while technology is a wonderful tool, it’s also important to be prepared for a day without it—and to have a good laugh about it when it happens.

After all, if I can survive a day without my phone and still manage to bring home coffee (even if it was slightly off), then I can tackle anything life throws my way. Now, if only I could memorize my coffee orders without my app. That, my friends, is the next challenge!