“Hey beautiful…the back door’s open”, a mobile phone and a slip of the thumb was all it took to land Warnie back in the boiler with Simone. The next minute, the story’s been sold to tabloids and we once again hear of the exploits of one amorous thumb that possibly finds more pleasure in pushing the wrong buttons than doing anything else. But the problem of the messaging slip, like the Freudian slip or any other slip, strikes us mere mortals too. We, like the lusty gods of the media spectacle, need to flounder in our own pool of humiliation at times.
Uni, no, life in general is fast paced. When you're on the run from the bus stop down George St to Camperdown or just jetting between classes, the short msg is the fastest way to communicate without talking or the fear of being held on the line for anymore time than is necessary. The aim seems 2 b 2 use th least no. of wrds as poss as well…n u end up w/ smthing dats more lk ABC soup than an actual sentence. And then there’s the predictatext that can make the already gargled words into an indecipherable mass/mars/oars.
But once the thumbs have raced off the msg the real trouble starts. Proof reading doesn’t seem a priority. Scrolling down the contact list your mind juggles multiple tracks: who you really want to send the msg to; who you really don’t; (sometimes) who you wish you could send it to. The mind’s a tricky little thing and at times it chooses the option that you really don’t want. There’s a myriad of things that can go wrong.
“Hey can I drop by yours this arvo n grab my jacket? We’ll grab sm dinner 2? xox” with all the innuendoes was answered by Mum with a very suspect “Sure…?” So much for trying not to disturb the poetry lecture! Next time check the number stupid!
"I’m in the bar (car)" can be a worrying sign of deeper problems at 7 in the morning (to Dad).
Or “Thnx 4 coming on Saturday! Bn ages since I last saw u!”
“Err…u neva invited me? Yeh…it’s bn a while” was the awkward reply.
“I’ve got aids (ages) after a tute @ 2pm. C u then” just ain’t nice.
And chaos can occur with group invitation messages, especially if one fails to send – and especially when the some of the recipients happen to be sitting next to each other.
But the problem goes further than the phone. Facebook has its own challenges when friends can read everything that you’ve posted on someone elses wall.
“You’re def the favourite”, posted on Gini’s wall, was read by Paula (“Gini’s your fav?! You’ve been lying to me all these years! You bastard!”) that I then tried to smooth over with “But of course you’re my fav!” which was picked up by Gini who posted on Paula’s wall (“Did Yi-Long detract his declaration of favouritism on your wall?!!!! Bastard!”) and on my wall (“Are you telling someone else that they are your favourite?!!”) and…
…hmmm, thoroughly bastardised. In the end I’m stuck between a rock and a very, very hard place with these two fine ladies (I hope they read that bit). But these situations do make life a bit more interesting. Maybe that’s why Warnie does it. Mmm…time to get my busy thumbs back to work!