IN the dim and distant past, nobody had iPhones. Texting hadn’t been invented. You would leave a message for a friend by ‘telling their dad’.
In my ongoing inquiries to find out if old people are in fact human, I’m going to try to surmount one of the greatest challenges of their lives: organising a night out.
My phone is removed from me. Instantly, I feel isolated and terrifyingly alone, like Matt Damon in The Martian, denied the human warmth of ‘C u maccy D ltr?’
‘Stop being a bloody drama queen and use the landline,’ Dad said. It’s weird how violent homophobia like that hits home harder when there’s no friends to share it with.
I went to the landline, which is like a phone you can only use in one place. None of my mates’ numbers were on there. I felt the walls closing in around me, all hope of escape slipping away.
By a million-to-one chance Mum had Jen’s number written down. I had to type it in exact sequence against the clock, like a heist movie. A man called Derek answered the first few times and got abusive. I’d confused a 1 for a 7. How did they live like this?
Finally I got through – and no answer. Only voicemail. What kind of fucking halfwit would invent a phone that only works when you’re out?
I left 20 or so messages explaining my terrible plight. I got no call back. I had to face the awful truth – this Satuday I’d be stuck at home watching Strictly while Mum makes incomprehensible jokes about Claudia Winkleman looking like one of the Munsters.
She saw me on the stairs, head in hands, suffering deep trauma, and said: ‘Why don’t you walk round to Jordan’s? It’s only five minutes, you lazy sod.’ Genius! Even those sliding into senility have lessons to teach.
Jordan was in, though freaked out that I materialised from nowhere, and he had his phone. The WhatsApp group had assumed I was dead but no: I was back in the loop, ready for whatever life could throw at me.
We went to McDonald’s but mostly didn’t buy anything, then to Costa, then listened to hip hop on Liam’s phone, then I went home and had a ham sandwich and a wank.
To think I could so easily have missed that unforgettable night. Technology is meant to serve us, but it can too easily turn into our master. I explained this to Mum, but she laughed and called me a knob.
