Smartphones and dumb clucks

Dear Nephew,

Your Uncle Ambrose has done something he’s sworn he’d never do. He got himself a smartphone.

And I didn’t even have to drag him to the electronics center down at the Super-Mega-Maxi-Mart. In fact, he didn’t want me with him for the purchase.

Your uncle had been satisfied to have a landline phone. His reasoning was that if he wasn’t home, people could catch him at the bait shop or the hardware store.

“That’s where I spend most of my time,” your Uncle Ambrose told me. “If it’s an emergency, they can call Floyd at the bait shop or Harold at hardware. If I’m not at either place, they can find me at the lake.”

Well, I used to worry my head off when I couldn’t find your uncle to let him know we needed a gallon of milk. How was I to know he wasn’t at the bottom of the lake? So I bought him one of those pay-as-you-go phones to put in his pocket — just in case.

He didn’t like it at first, but then realized I mostly called him for supper. Your uncle never misses a meal.

His little phone was pretty basic with a screen the size of a good-sized postage stamp. It wasn’t set up for any other services so all he could do with it, pretty much, was answer my calls.

The only time he called out was once when he needed me to make sure his camera had film. He was planning to photograph an old army buddy he ran into at the VA hospital. Your uncle keeps a photo album with snapshots from his old Kodak Brownie.

Most of his pictures are of fish he catches at the lake. He photographs them all, even though most of his fish aren’t much bigger than the minnows he uses for bait.

Well, your Uncle Ambrose had a dilemma. I’ll let him explain:

“Vic, it’s getting harder and harder to find film for my camera and somebody to develop it. I feel like I’m searching for the holy grail.”

Then the light came on for him. Actually, it was a blue-light special down at the Super-Mega-Maxi-Mart. They had a big sale on digital cameras.

I left your uncle at the electronics department, as per his request, while I bided my time in fabrics. Lord knows, I haven’t sewed a stitch in years.

Anyway, 30 minutes later he finds me rummaging through gabardines and shows me his new smartphone.

“I thought you detested those things,” I said.

“Well, I looked at the cameras and found out that you have to take out a little card and insert it in your computer before you can print or send the photos,” your uncle said. “But this nice young man with thick glasses and a shirt pocket protector was kind enough to let me know this smartphone can do all that on-scene.

“I can take a picture and see it instantly,” said your Uncle Ambrose. “While it’s on the screen, I can send it to my computer or a friend with just a few clicks.

“Oh, and my phone has all these things called apps, for ‘applications’ I think. One is a calculator and another is a calendar.

“And there’s a GPS one that tells me how to drive around Raleigh without getting lost. I’ve never been able to drive around Raleigh without missing a turn or taking the wrong exit.”

“But Am, you swore years ago you’d never go to Raleigh again in this lifetime,” I reminded your uncle.

“I said that in a moment of extreme frustration,” your uncle said. “It was right after I had passed that same convenience store for the fifth time while we were looking for the Museum of Natural Sciences. I was really hoping to see their live sloth.”

“Well, you know they put those convenience stores there for a reason,” I said. “Basically, they’re for you to stop and ask directions.”

“I was depending on the natural compass built into my brain,” your Uncle Ambrose said. “But there were solar flares that day and they were blocking my directional signals.”

“Whatever. At least now your smartphone will get you around,” I said.

“Naw, I don’t think so,” said your uncle. “GPS is just for emergency backup. I’m depending on my innate dead reckoning.”

“Well I reckon we’ll be dead before you find your way to the live sloth.”

As you can see, your uncle is just as stubborn as ever.

Love,

Your Uncle Ambrose and Aunt Victoria

Larry Penkava is a writer for Randolph Hub. Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.