Before Man Went to Moon

Michel Heitzmann

I sat as a kid, watching greyed images on TV. Obviously with no clue of the enormity of the moment.

Or perhaps its irrelevance.

Back then, there were rotary telephones. That is, if you could afford one. Even a waiting list to get one. Once proudly displayed, I could crunch clockwise and wait for the wheel to spin back. I remember my grandma’s number (7435433. Don’t try it has been off for a while.)

Numbers were written on pieces of paper with the certain inconvenience of eventually losing them before having noted them down in a little book called an agenda.

There were also thick books to sit on and be at the table. Those were called directories, one per city, perhaps region.

Then came push-tone phones. And those little black gadgets, made in Japan or China. I held them up to the receiver to make tones when automated voices showed up. “Press 1 for this. Press 2 for that.”

“Your call is important to us. Please hold.” went the voice who would then shut up so I could listen to a repeating bad tune and understand how important I really was.

Then Steve Jobs walked on stage. The world in our pockets. The simplicity of the thing.

There is an app for this. An app for that. Do anything. Do more. Check real time stuff. Go… anywhere. Control!

It was exciting.

But I became the product.

I talk about something. An hour later, it shows up as an ad on my phone.

The tools I celebrated started working against me. Quietly. One little sign and notification at a time. One algorithm at a time. One scroll at a time.

Going back to rotary telephones? Nah.

Throw my phone in a lake? Also nah.

I like what technology can do but I must be aware.

I want to notice when I pick up my phone for no reason. I want to feel the difference between choosing to look at a screen and being pulled into one.

This is how I regained control.

I think.