I sold Apple iPhones in 2012. Ten years later, I want to knock them out of peoples' hands.
When the launch of the iPhone 4S created lines around its retail stores, I was a sales associate at the shop in Skokie, IL. I am an Apple addict. So after winning a spot in 2012, I was ecstatic. I was 74 at that time, the oldest employee on the team.
I continue to be a fan. I am typing this on my MacBook Air, peeking at my iWatch to check for messages, listening on my iPhone for "By the Seaside" to signal a child is calling, and I read eBooks on my iPad.
But my ardor is slowly flipping to anger.
I live in a highrise where once again I am likely the oldest person. When I take the elevator, rising or descending, and the doors slide open, my neighbors enter.
It matters not that they are escorting a dog, or are holding coffee in one hand; they all cross the threshold with their eyes pasted on their Androids or Apples. If that didn't rile me enough, their ears are also jammed with headphones.
"Good morning," I attempt. Some look up. Watching them pull their attention from their palm filled phones is almost pathetic. It is as if the draft of the U.S. Constitution is scrolling on their screens and their signatures are needed to launch our country. Or could it be Instagram?
When no response is forthcoming, I look down at Doris, my four year-old Terrier-Jack Russell mix. I raise my shoulders to suggest, "I tried." She cares not.
I am also chagrined when Doris and I walk to the dog park. I tremble, but resist calling out, as pedestrians cross streets -- perhaps dog leash in hand -- with eyes uninterested in traffic. Instead focusing on phones.
When I see these scenarios, I wonder: Are these multitasking youngsters aware that in this country, one pedestrian is killed every 2 hours? With a high percentage of fatalities caused by the walker or driver distracted by their phones.
Another source pegs the number of Americans who are killed each year by distracted rivers at more than 3,000. Other authorities say the tally could be closer to 20,000.
While those in public health describe distracted walking and driving an epidemic, my interest is focused on the affect the phones have on sociability and engagement.
In my daily life, I am affected by both outbreaks.
On our walks to the aforementioned dog park, Doris and I must cross Grand Ave., one of Chicago's busiest East West streets. When the light turns green, we tread carefully. One eye is focused on the left lane where cars turning east typically wait until we reach the other side.
But occasionally, a driver will be focusing on their phone and not acknowledging the small woman and dog that are trotting to safety. Most vehicles snap to attention and screech to a halt. But once, a van was not slowing. Doris and I doubled our pace. I screamed M@#$%R F^&*R while trying to catch the license plate.
We reached the other side safely. But I took a few minutes to grab onto a light pole and await a descending heart rate.
And there is no reprieve at the dog park, which should be a place for dog owner fellowship, and a carefree playground for pups. Instead it is a leafy library. Dogs run wild and occasionally get into serious brawls. Their owners, meanwhile, are engrossed in their phones. Camaraderie is reserved for celebrities, or other images in the ether.
The bowed heads, reverent as temple worshipers send a signal: Do not disturb. Their attention is pasted to their screens. I've learned not to take it personally.
But I often wonder if I had not been one of those cheery Apple employees 10 years ago, would I be so offended by what the phones have become. It feels personal.
Certainly Steve Jobs intended for his brainchild to provide security for buyers, to widen our world with quick access to friends and family, and to offer another method of entertainment.
But if he now witnessed how iPhones have turned into devices of dangerous distraction, and gadgets to propel us into private worlds, would he be proud of his achievement?