Cell Phones
Our conversation, nervous on my side, is interrupted when the waiter returns with a tray of drinks in delicate-looking crystalline glasses. The young woman – Atlanta – fishes out a rectangular item from somewhere on her person, while I gingerly sip on my “oolong tea,” which turns out to be a fragrant, bitter brew with other flavours mixed in.
Her activity attracts my interest when she props the item against her glass, touches a few parts of it, then… begins to converse with somebody else through the item using a mix of signage and sounds?
I should not watch the activity… but I do it anyway, curious as ever.
And, when she is apparently finished conversing, I knock on the table to gain her attention. Then I point at the devise and make an exaggeratedly confused look, to convey, “What is it?”
She gives me a wry stare in return.
“Cell phone. What else?” she writes.
I stifle a huff, caught between worry and increased curiosity. – There are so many things that I must learn about this Midgard! How and from which point should I start?
“Consider me ignorant about nearly everything. Please explain,” I write back, at last, grudgingly. `How gauling….`