Bleep -- bleep -- bleep!
The sounds of a video game in full swing cut through the background sounds of the morning commute from inside a Metrorail train car. I turn my head to see the kid glued to it and muse how the thoughtful touch of a button to considerately turn down or mute the volume is the furthest thing from his hard-wired brain. He is oblivious to anything but the digital connection he has to this machine.
Behind me, a man mumbles something about it to the neighbor in his seat, to the effect of not having had gadgets like that when he was a kid. The man beside him pipes up and agrees. They exchange ages in relation to this, and they spiral backward into a reverie about "party lines." Not the kind of party lines you'd expect to hear as a topic of conversation between two men in the District, I think, smiling, as I eavesdrop surreptitiously on this odd bit of conversation.
The two, who were strangers (as far as I can tell) before this incessant noise brought them to a common ground, reminisce about a time that this type of telephone system connected people within local areas, using different rings to designate calls for each separate household. We modern types who hardly pee without having a cell phone clipped to our belts -- and the few of us who even dare to navigate traffic while simultaneously texting from these mega-multi-function phones (not that I'll admit to anything) -- would have a hard time contending with this archaic system, I think. It is only effective if one party is not constantly tying up the line to the disadvantage of other users. That was during a time when people did not live and die by the phone and the constant availability of communications. Things were not so global, I guess, so they had only to walk down the street to gossip with a friend.
It's hard to fathom now that Alexander Graham Bell once had quite a few doubters as to the eventual success of his invention. Oh, if he could see us now racing about like scurrying rats, data fed to us from every possible source, virtually controlled by this flow of information at times, our world shaped on so many levels by advertising and the news media. I mean do we really ever know what we really think and feel about anything anymore? Can we honestly, 100 percent say that what we speak of and support comes from our own volition and not because of the programming we receive from hearing something over and over on television?
So moments like this morning's idle chat between two commuters are the ones I treasure - the rarity of a human conversation erupting in such an unexpected time and place as during the hubbub of the public transit commute, when an unspoken code seems to dissuade talking.
So call me nosy, because I am.
These moments, no matter how abbreviated, as a whole, over time, give me better insight into this urban culture. I liken myself to a sociologist of sorts, a spectator who is entertained by being a fly on the wall and trying to gain insight into the lives of others. I hope this will help me to develop my craft as a writer. No subject is more interesting to me than people, the stories of our lives, and why we behave the way we do. This world, our society, is a vast frontier that will never be fully and completely explored and will always invite my curiosity.
That's where the meaning of life is to be found. Not in looking down from the ivory tower of corporate offices or pushing people out of the way to get to the top, but in the simple in-betweens -- moments such as this when commonalities arise and spark words between two unaffiliated people; stooping down to pick up something someone dropped, catching up to him and getting a smile in return.
Nah, you would never guess that I'm an idealist, would you? Not in a million years.
Here's a Wikipedia article on party lines, for more info.