“Certain kinds of intimacy emerge on a phone call that might never occur if you were sitting right next to the other person.” (Errol Morris)

Techno Wizards have taken a big bite out of the dating dance.   With its swipe-left, swipe-right mentality that offers up an instantaneous array of winnowed profile pics throughout the globe, faster than a Horn & Hardart automat used to dispense egg salad sandwiches, it’s become a disorienting game of “Let’s Make A Deal.”  If you settle for Swipe #1, you may have missed out on the prize behind Swipe #2 or #3, if only you had delved a little deeper.  Singlehood has devolved into a box of cracker jacks. 

The Swipe generation will never know the excitement that came with a limited means of communication, and the element of surprise and anticipation it could bring.  Before mobile phones became an appendage to our physical forms, we were left to our own devices, which for most of us consisted of an analog landline and its trusty sidekick, the answering machine. After a night on the town, a blinking red light on your answering machine the next day was a figurative call from Monty Hall, telling you that either you’ve won a velvet clad living room set from Drexel Heritage, or a lifetime supply of Rice-A-Roni … Could it be that handsome guy you spent half the night swaying with on the dance floor, or is it Bamberger’s department store, calling to remind you that your charge card payment was due on the 1^st?

Socializing with the hopes of meeting a potential love interest, and without the armor of a text or email, made introductions a safari-like experience.  You both had to be game, and once your eyes locked onto a target, the hunt began.   The awareness of small talk lessened as the intensity of the eye gaze increased, and after all, who was really listening?  The primal need to size up a potential mate first, through magical pheromones and a quick glance at their shoes, took precedence.  “Can I buy you a drink?” had a liquifying way of sounding in one’s imagination like, “What are you doing the rest of your life?” depending upon how attracted you were, and how many gin and tonics you may have consumed.  And then there was the escalation of the electrical current passing between the two of you, a sensation that an LCD screen can never duplicate. 

“I’ll call you…” became the mating dance sign-off, a wrap up to the initial encounter with a desired intent to keep the dance going.  And there were tricks that came with giving your phone number on a piece of paper that a test call to their cell phone as a means of securing your number on their call log would never allow.  That machismo guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and who appeared to be easier to get rid of by reciting your number?  You simply gave an incorrect digit at the end of it.  It offered up the option to pretend they had mistakenly written it down should you ever run into them at a local deli. 

The best part of the promise of “I’ll call you…” was receiving the actual call.   With measured breathing and the right modulation to your voice, it expressed a flirtation that could never be captured on Facetime.  There was a mystery attached to the voice at the end of the receiver that fueled the getting-to-know-you banter, and if all went well, culminated in the anticipation of that first date.  It was a simmer instead of a boil. Getting from one step to the next without instantaneous gratification was half of the thrill, and a missed call or two made it even more fun. 

There’s something in the nature of a phone call that a text will never replace.  It’s having a 3-course meal instead of Chicken McNuggets on the go.  As for me, I’m reasonably up to date with technology and new apps, and I believe the world would be a much larger place without email.  Still, I’ll never forget the twinge of excitement at seeing that blinking red light, at a time when anything and anyone seemed possible.