Get Some Facetime

As I stepped into the waiting room at my chiropractor’s office, three women and one guy were looking down at their cell phones, sitting in a symmetrical pattern amongst the u-shaped chairs. Feeling giddy from my fifty-five minute massage I said,” Well, this looks like a blog post to me! You’re all on your phones!”
The three women laughed and started a conversation. The man ignored me.
“I was going to find a magazine,” one woman said, “but it was easier to just look at my phone.”
The youngest woman said, “I’m just seventeen, so . . .”
“It’s all you know,” I said, finishing her sentence.
“I used to play outside!” she said. “I am an after-school nanny for two kids who never go outside! They keep asking for their Ipads even though their mom says only thirty minutes.”
“How old are they?” I asked.
“Third grade and kindergarten,” she said.
“How sad!” another woman said.
“It’s so bad at high school that the teachers have phone caddies for us,” the young woman said, “to keep our phones in during class. But we use our laptops in class, so we can still send messages without our phones.”
“Are you going to march on Saturday?” I asked.
“No, I have a swim meet,” she said, “in the rain.”
“I write children’s books,” I said, “and one of my publishers is encouraging us authors to march.”
“It’s just ridiculous that anyone has to march for students’ safety,” the high school girl said.
“Once you guys are running the country, things will be different,” I said, “once the current politicians have aged out.”
“Yeah, the old white guys,” she said.
Then I was called back for my adjustment.
What a poised and thoughtful young woman. No wonder things are going to change. She can carry a on a conversation with a much older crowd. She knows what she wants.
There are a lot of seventeen-year-old students in this country.
How many will be old enough to vote next November?

Couldda Shouldda Wouldda
I should’ve asked her when her birthday was.

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