APRIL 23, 2023 – And now for a little two-part, Pavlovian comedy . . .
With technological advancements and our corresponding adaptations, we easily lose sight of how ridiculous we’d appear to our former selves.
Take ear buds, for example, in league with our phones. I remember the time years ago when I encountered a lawyer I knew well, talking out loud (and loudly) to himself as he strutted purposefully toward me in the broad daylight of downtown Minneapolis. At first I thought he’d lost his mind. As the gap closed between us, however, I saw the thin black cord dangling from his ear. He winked and raised a hand in acknowledgment as we passed. I sighed with relief in the realization he was “on the phone,” not “on the spectrum.”
Before long, many people walked solo in the skyways and out on downtown streets . . . talking to themselves.
In a related phenomenon, old folks, myself reluctantly included, talk very loudly on the phone, not from loss of hearing but from the subconscious misperception that a smartphone’s miniature microphone doesn’t require megaphonic vocal cords to be heard at the other end of the line . . . er, transmission. When I’m on my phone at home, I speak at least 10 times an adequate decibel level. Depending on our respective locations, my wife will either swing a door shush me by universal sign language.
She, of course, does exactly the same thing: cranks up the volume of her voice when she’s on the phone. The hilarious irony, of course, is that neither of us can break the habit, and in that regard, as many others, we’re made for each other. But she gets to shush with impunity, whereas I’ve been trained away from such a Pavlovian impulse, evidence that a Pavlovian canine can be de-programmed. For me my wife’s continuing Pavlovian response isn’t only acceptable but amusing, since her predictable reaction to my “phone voice” is, so far, inevitably ineffectual thanks to the old (non-Pavlovian)-dog-no-new-tricks syndrome that accompanies age interfacing with evolving technologies.
Our Pavlovian response to a smartphone’s ring is another behavior that would’ve amused our former selves. Remember olden times when the house phone would ring five times before you calmly found your way through three rooms or up a staircase to answer? How often nowadays are we in a meeting, conversation, the bathroom or waiting impatiently for the slow rising of the SUV tailgate in the grocery store parking lot when the phone rings and we JUMP clear of our socks to dig the damn phone out of a pocket and frantically attempt to answer before the second ring?
I remember a law partner of mine whose real name will go unmentioned but whose nickname, known only to me, was “Pavlov’s Dog.” No matter what kind of conversation—casual to super-pressing—was interrupted by his phone ringing, you’d have thought the phone was an industrial gauge taser triggered by any call. He’d answer—always before the second ring—no matter what, no matter who. His response drove me crazier each time I asked, begged, reminded, scolded him . . . “Don’t answer!” (Cont.)
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
