A friend told me a hilarious story about an awkward encounter in an elevator the other day, and I’m still giggling over it.   She’s standing in an elevator on her way to the top of a high rise, the elevator stops, the doors open, and a man in a suit enters.  He says loudly, “So, the meeting went really well!”  And she looks around.  They’re the only people in the elevator.  “Congratulations!” she says, as the meeting must be pretty important to him if he’s telling strangers about it in random elevators.  He looks at her as if she’s got rabies.  Literally, like she’s Ole Yeller foaming at the mouth.  And then he gestures to his ear: clipped to the side of his head is his little Bluetooth headset.  As if this simple ear-point is supposed to clear the whole situation up, and she’s suddenly supposed to realize that she’s the one who’s acting like an idiot, not the man making loud, personal proclamations in an elevator with a stranger.  She got off on the next floor out of sheer embarrassment and took the stairs up the rest of the way. 

I think my friend’s crazy encounter is just a symptom of a larger problem.  We’re starting to look like a nation full of crazy people, walking around, talking loudly to ourselves, or so it would appear.  And, while I’m as busy as the next gal, unless I’m driving, or working on a computer while talking on the phone, or alone at home, gabbing with a gal pal while I work on my latest crochet project, I usually have a hand free with which to talk on the phone.  And it’s not just Bluetooths (Blueteeth?) that is keeping people trapped in self-absorbed bubbles.  What about incessant text messaging, instead of chatting with someone sitting next to you on the subway?  Or being literally deaf to the world thanks to those little white earbuds peeking out of your ears and tying you to the mp3 device tucked in your pocket?  Technology, while meant to help us connect, can often divide and isolate us if we’re not careful.