Cell Phones

            I was sitting on the train back home to Bologna. The train car was small, old fashioned with bench seats, velvet crimson. It seemed as if the seats were meant to turn into beds, creating a sleeping car. I sat with two other passengers and my knees were tucked carefully into the spare space. Even so, our knees knocked when the train lurched around turns, or in and out of stations.

            After a weekend in Rome, I needed to chart out my next semester of classes. I needed to organize my week into a manageable schedule: work, class, study, fun. I sat there with my little notebook in hand, scribbling out the various classes into a haphazard weekly time chart. Generally, I prefer to do such things on paper with a pen or pencil. I tend to make mistakes, and usually the whole plan will change. A permanent copy just seems fruitless. Besides, I was sitting in a train with little space, a small notebook just seemed that much more convenient.

            I had just finished blocking in my hypothetical weekly plans into my roughly drawn chart when I glanced up and realized the irony of the situation.

            Here I was, a 20-year-old American, sitting in a train car with two middle-aged Italians. They both had their smart phones in their hands and were eagerly tapping away texts, checking information on line, checking emails, maybe even organizing their weekly calendars. The smart phones looked like they had every new gadget on the market. My train companions' fingers were agile at using the touch screens. They were clearly experts at this new technology. And here I was, the young kid from California—the center of all this technological advancement—and I was charting out my calendar with a pen and a little notebook.

            I refrained from snickering, but I most certainly smiled.