Dr LeCrone
04-20-2006, 02:44 PM
In many homes today, one of the most frequently heard phrases is – “it’s for you.”
The “it’s” is a call to the telephone, an instrument that is such an integral part of our lives that it bears discussing as a possible kind of addiction.
Dependency on the availability of telephones and the added features of telephone service make me wonder if its use has reached addicted proportions. In my own household, for instance, with three children, two of whom are teenagers, we found it necessary to install three lines. Because all three lines were often in simultaneous use, one of the teenage boys suggested adding “call waiting” to all three giving us the equivalent of six incoming lines. I believe that was when my wife and I put a halt on extra added services to our telephones.
This was a decision that nevertheless failed to thwart my embracing with relish the addition of a portable phone, which made it possible for me to move and accomplish small tasks after placing the other instrument on hold or to prevent me from tucking the portable in my hip pocket and roaming about in the yard while still being on call for important messages.
What is it with us and the telephonitis addiction? My father-in-law, who was blind but nevertheless very astute in making observations about people and the world around him, had a name for those he thought were more than “normal” users of the telephone. He described them as “having black-cord fever.”
Another gadget, the car telephone, is one that many of my friends have purchased. I must admit, I have considered this, but I decided it would give me the same feeling I get when traveling and I check into a hotel that has a phone in the bathroom.
Just recently a business acquaintance across town suggested that I install a fax machine, a device that would allow me to receive almost instantaneously a document from him. There would be no waiting on the postman, he said. I have been vaguely aware of the usefulness of this new technological mode of communication. But frankly, I thought it would be more appropriate for someone exchanging messages between distant cities or for those who wanted to speed up the delivery of important business transactions that couldn’t wait for overnight delivery. As more occasions for its use in my office occur, I may have to investigate and think further on this.
Since my vocation falls into the category of a verbal communicator, I have gone through most of the phases of being a beeper user, having a mobile phone and using intercoms both in my home and office. But for the present I am hereby announcing that I am drawing the line on anymore high-tech communication equipment. As my father-in-law would say, “I’m curing myself of black-cord fever.”
For those of you who find yourselves frequently involved with telecommunication, good luck. I wish you well. But when you find that the telephone or some extension of this device is encroaching on your freedom, then I suggest you sit back and decide if your romantic relationship with the telephone has turned into an addiction.
Harold H. LeCrone, Jr., Ph.D. Copyright 1989
The “it’s” is a call to the telephone, an instrument that is such an integral part of our lives that it bears discussing as a possible kind of addiction.
Dependency on the availability of telephones and the added features of telephone service make me wonder if its use has reached addicted proportions. In my own household, for instance, with three children, two of whom are teenagers, we found it necessary to install three lines. Because all three lines were often in simultaneous use, one of the teenage boys suggested adding “call waiting” to all three giving us the equivalent of six incoming lines. I believe that was when my wife and I put a halt on extra added services to our telephones.
This was a decision that nevertheless failed to thwart my embracing with relish the addition of a portable phone, which made it possible for me to move and accomplish small tasks after placing the other instrument on hold or to prevent me from tucking the portable in my hip pocket and roaming about in the yard while still being on call for important messages.
What is it with us and the telephonitis addiction? My father-in-law, who was blind but nevertheless very astute in making observations about people and the world around him, had a name for those he thought were more than “normal” users of the telephone. He described them as “having black-cord fever.”
Another gadget, the car telephone, is one that many of my friends have purchased. I must admit, I have considered this, but I decided it would give me the same feeling I get when traveling and I check into a hotel that has a phone in the bathroom.
Just recently a business acquaintance across town suggested that I install a fax machine, a device that would allow me to receive almost instantaneously a document from him. There would be no waiting on the postman, he said. I have been vaguely aware of the usefulness of this new technological mode of communication. But frankly, I thought it would be more appropriate for someone exchanging messages between distant cities or for those who wanted to speed up the delivery of important business transactions that couldn’t wait for overnight delivery. As more occasions for its use in my office occur, I may have to investigate and think further on this.
Since my vocation falls into the category of a verbal communicator, I have gone through most of the phases of being a beeper user, having a mobile phone and using intercoms both in my home and office. But for the present I am hereby announcing that I am drawing the line on anymore high-tech communication equipment. As my father-in-law would say, “I’m curing myself of black-cord fever.”
For those of you who find yourselves frequently involved with telecommunication, good luck. I wish you well. But when you find that the telephone or some extension of this device is encroaching on your freedom, then I suggest you sit back and decide if your romantic relationship with the telephone has turned into an addiction.
Harold H. LeCrone, Jr., Ph.D. Copyright 1989