One of the many indirect effects of recent developments in mobile phone technology is that it's now socially acceptable to talk to yourself in public. You see someone unaccompanied but apparently having a conversation, and you automatically assume he has a mobile phone somewhere on his person, even if you can't see an earpiece, or a mouthpiece, or a wire.
Only if he starts shouting out loud and waving a wine bottle will it occur to you that maybe he's not on a call; and even then, such is the spread of the technology, you can't be sure.
Of course, long before cell-phone technology, Dublin was full of people talking to themselves. You used to be wary of passing them because even if they weren't liable to hit you with a bottle, their conversations might be along the lines of: "Can you hold, please? I've got another of my inner voices on line two."
Then there were the religious zealots as well. But they've never been quite so unnerving somehow, because at least you could believe they had somebody on the other end of the line (unless you were an atheist, of course).
Nowadays, however, you just don't bat an eyelid at someone talking into thin air. You might still be a little bit uncomfortable when the person next to you in a restaurant or pub does it (partly because you're convinced that passive mobile phone usage will be the next big health scare). But as the phones become ever more popular, as well as ever more invisible, you probably soon won't even notice.
Speaking of pubs and restaurants, another effect of the technology is that there is now a powerful new weapon in the fight against strangers who want to make conversation with you, even though you're sending them bright red "Leave me alone" signals, by reading a newspaper, or a beermat, or whatever.
I remember once sitting in a cafe when this guy joined me at the table and, ignoring the newspaper, started talking in a monotone about - of all things - cafe seating arrangements. He'd clearly thought a lot about the subject and needed to share his ideas - which were on the general theme that some seating arrangements were so designed that they encouraged people to talk to each other, while others were just downright anti-social.
When he started drawing diagrams of different lay-outs on the paper napkins, I realised I was in the hands of a professional bore. This guy had killed people with conversation - you could see it in his eyes. Now he was targeting me; but not if I was tied to my chair with piano wire could I have been more helpless to react.
Before long, I was silently praying for something to happen to make him stop: something like a giant asteroid hitting the Earth and destroying all life - anything. Then, suddenly, a friend of his turned up (incredibly, he had one) and I escaped.
This used to be a common hazard if you were alone and stationary in a public place. Now, as soon as such a person starts talking, you can just put a finger to your ear and say: "Excuse me . . . Yes, speaking. What's that? A giant asteroid on course to hit the planet? All life destroyed within minutes? I'll be there right away - as soon as I find somewhere to change into my costume." Then you can grab your newspaper and run.
WHAT got me thinking about technology was the experience of having a conversation with my new mobile phone the other day, while I was walking along the street.
Conversation wouldn't be my description normally, because I was just keying in numbers and listening to a recorded female voice telling me how the phone worked and, in particular, how I could hear my messages. But when I hit a meaningless number sequence, the voice went back to basics, and attempted to explain to me how communicating with my phone was "just like a conversation".
These recordings have become very sophisticated and intuitive, and this one had decided I was an idiot. So, speaking slowly and clearly, she explained how I could access my messages, which I eventually succeeded in doing. (Of course, I didn't have any messages because nobody had my number yet. Who was I expecting to hear from? Martians?)
Then I had the thought that all this sophisticated technology is damn-all use when you have a situation, as we do now, where it's harder and harder to get an answer from the numbers you're calling anyway. A lot of time, in fact, you might as well be talking to yourself.
Most people could echo the comments of M.D. Kennedy in this paper's letters page last Monday, when s/he complained of spending 45 minutes on the phone recently waiting in vain for an answer from Telecom Eireann. It isn't just the phone companies, of course; but if you like irony, the example is hard to better.
More generally, automated call-answering has become the curse of the modern-day phone user (viciously indiscriminate use of Corrs music, designed to discourage you from holding on and clogging up the lines, is a close second). And it's getting worse all the time. In the very near future, you're probably going to ring a number - your phone company's, for example - and hear something like this:
"Welcome to our automated answering service. For sales and service, please press one. To pay your bill - and may we say, it's about time you did - press two. For information about our new products and how out-of-date the last thing we sold you already is, press three. If you feel we're not sending you enough junk mail already and you'd like even more, press four.
"To hear this menu again, press 5. If you'd like to speak to an operator, believe me, so would we; you don't happen to know anyone who wants the job? And finally, if you want to avoid hearing more of the Corrs, press the hang-up button now."
