Bring on blue-tooth and your tablets that stream live football games for free. Give me that technology. I’ll figure it out, eventually.
Oh. Wait a minute.
I need a technology filter first. You see, there are some things brought forth in the name of progress and invention that I can simply do without. Some of them are items that aren’t even that complicated.
Things like electric car windows. Don’t want them. Don’t need them. Roll your garage door up and down electrically all you like, but leave me my hand-crank for the car windows. Much more reliable. The passenger-side window on the van is permanently raised, even on the hottest summer day without air conditioning. Can’t roll ‘er down.
On the other hand, I love the fact that I can snap a digital photograph on my cellular telephone and transfer it to the laptop computer without the use of wires. And then – should I care to – click the mouse and send the picture to the printer in the office at the back of the store. Sometimes I do that, just because I can.
There are – I believe – some cutting edge techno-gadgets that simply go beyond what is necessary.
In our redeveloped Rose District we have some fancy-schmancy gadgetry that has just been connected up to the electrical circuit-grid, making them click, and whir, and switch. The traffic signals are more than just car-stoppers, you see.
Before the changes, a vehicle approaching on a cross-street would trigger the traffic signal facing Main to change to red. That’s all well and good. But – what if – there is a huge, huge line of cars wanting to cross Main Street? Just imagine so many cars backed up that they keep triggering the light to stay red. Oh, those poor souls on Main, forced to wait, even though their vehicles have backed up for two or three blocks. (It could happen. Yep.)
Well. The new signals have an electric eye (so I’ve been told) that keeps checking for any backups on Main. Too many cars waiting? Bang! Easy-peasy, the light mechanism knows it is time to change to keep the flow going. A little while later, it will switch back to allow the rest of the evening rush to get across.
Here is the ultra-tech: If you stand at the corner of Main and Commercial, (or have a seat in one of the new sidewalk benches) you’ll be told to “Wait.” It is an authoritative male voice that doesn’t seem to want any guff.
“Wait,” it says. “Wait. Wait. Wait.”
In fact, it appears to be limited in vocabulary to a single word. And it seems to be limited in intelligence to a single activity.
No matter which direction we pedestrians are headed, we are told to “Wait.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait.”
“See McHuston wait.”
“Wait.
The UPS driver bounced in wondering what the Wait was all about, and I replied that there was no waiting at the bookshop. A customer wondered if people were commenting about the Wait.
They were, but I had no idea what they were talking about until I walked to the bank and needed to cross the street.
“Wait,” the post said. “Wait. Wait Wait.”
So, I waited longer than reasonably required, just out of courtesy. Wait. It has been my impression that people walking downtown have long been accustomed to waiting before crossing, for fear of instant crushing death at the hands (or fender) of a heck-bent motorist in a speeding car. I’m thinking there should be a bullhorn aimed at those folks calling out “WAIT!” in a no-fooling tone. “WAIT! WAIT!” And then, we could cross the pedestrian-friendly street.
I was in the crosswalk in the middle of Main, walking with the approval of the signpost, when a young woman pulled up directly in front of me, cutting me off. One step quicker and I’d have been hit. I stood there – maybe two feet away from her car door – wondering “What the…”
The exact middle of Main seemed as safe a place as any at that point. So, I just waited it out. I’m not sure she ever saw me. She continued to talk on her phone until the light changed. At that point, she sped away, finally allowing me to cross against the wishes of the authoritative voice desperately calling out for me to “Wait. Wait.”
A lunch guest popped back in the shop today and said he had heard a voice outside. It kept repeating itself, he said. I was surprised when he admitted to needing a few moments to figure it out.
“Oink,” he had heard it say. “Oink. Oink. Oink.” At least I got the word right. I was hustling back from the bank and – don’t tell – I crossed against light.
“Wait,” spoketh the post. “No comprendo,” I replied.
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!
