The world is on the phone.
It actually has a sci-fi-feeling to it, like those awful Godzilla movies you watched as a kid.
What bothers me most, are the unconscious conversations one must endure daily, no matter where you happen to be.
Even kids are on the phone. Teenagers Tweeting and texting when, call me crazy, they could be reading.
Babies in strollers, rather than rattles or teething rings, get to play with mom’s phone, providing she’s not on it.
How bout the nanny tucked in a corner blabbing in her native language oblivious to her charge who’s now chewing his sock.
“Excuse me,” I say, learning you can’t come out swinging. You need to be gentle, like your dealing with a mental patient who’s just escaped from the ward.
“The baby, who’s so cute and smart…smile smile…got his sock off, and seems to be snacking on it…smile smile.”
She looks at me like I have three heads, tells whoever it is, un minuto, takes the sock away, then continues her chat.
Hey, mamacita, I could have done that, and let’s not forget, her voice sounds like jackhammering, just with an accent.
Trying not to scream and holler as your space is invaded, has become an art.