Coffeehouse Chronicles: Sam One vs. Modern Technology
Hey Chroniclers... Got yer cup? Okay, let's get it rolling.
Of course I've got another Sam One story.
You guys know Sam One.
He's a little quirky.
A little stubborn.
A little set in his ways.
And by "a little" I mean if they dug up a caveman and gave him a pension, he'd probably be more adaptable than Sam One.
This is a man who refuses to change.
If flip phones were still king, he'd have three of them.
As a matter of fact, I'm still shocked he changed his phone number when he moved to Arizona.
That probably required three months of emotional preparation and a support group.
The other day I was talking to him, and he was telling me about standing in line at CVS.
Now, Sam One lives in a retirement community where everybody is retired from somewhere.
According to him, everybody is older than dirt.
Every conversation starts the same way.
"These old people drive me nuts."
"They drive too slow."
"They won't get out of the way."
"They take forever."
I finally stopped him.
"Hey, Sam One. Where exactly are you going?"
You see, this is the same guy who brags constantly that he doesn't wear a watch.
Back when he was working, he had to be places.
Now he says things like:
"I don't have to be anywhere."
"I don't have appointments."
"I got all day."
If you invite him somewhere, he'll immediately say:
"Let me check my social calendar."
Then he'll wait a second.
"Hmmm."
"Looks like I've got nowhere to go and nothing to do."
Yet somehow, put him in the CVS line behind two people discussing blood pressure medication and suddenly he's in a life-or-death race against time.
"I've been standing here forever!"
Forever?
Doing what?
Avoiding retirement?
The best part is when he starts complaining.
"That clerk knows the customer."
"So?"
"They're talking."
"So?"
"There's a line."
"Sam One, what are you late for?"
Silence.
Because the answer is absolutely nothing.
The man is in a hurry to get home and not go anywhere.
Speaking of hurries...
Not too long ago, Sam One had a Toyota Avalon.
And like everything else Sam One owned, he decided to test its limits.
Apparently, he believed Toyota engineers built the car specifically so he could see what happened at triple-digit speeds.
Now, most people with a car that's a couple of decades old and the odometer has spun over to a number that makes it look like it's start all over again will drive that car carefully.
Not Sam One.
Nope.
Sam One drives like he's qualifying at Daytona.
One day he finally found the upper limits of Avalon engineering.
The engine exploded.
Well, maybe not exploded.
But it definitely resigned.
The engine basically filed retirement paperwork just like Sam One did.
Recently, Sam One discovered that the son of one of his former coworkers had become a physician in Arizona.
Sam One was excited.
Not because he needed a doctor.
Because he thought he had an angle.
He scheduled an appointment.
Walked into the doctor's office.
Introduced himself.
"Hey, your old man and I used to work together back in the LBC."
The doctor said, "That's nice."
And kept moving.
Now Sam One was expecting more.
A little gratitude.
A little nostalgia.
Maybe a family discount.
Maybe a secret handshake.
Perhaps a physician loyalty program.
Instead, nothing.
The doctor didn't even offer him a direct phone number.
This absolutely crushed Sam One.
Which is hysterical.
Because if you ask Sam One for HIS cell phone number, he'll act like you've requested launch codes.
"I don't give out the number to the secret love to just anyone."
In fact, half the world doesn't even know he owns a cell phone.
According to Sam One, "I don't have a cell phone."
Which is technically true only when people are asking for the number.
The man has turned privacy into an Olympic sport.
Every form asks for a phone number.
He gives his landline.
Every.
Single.
Time.
And yes, he still has a landline.
One of the last surviving specimens in North America.
The best part is when businesses tell him, "Okay, we'll text you."
The young person behind the counter always get the same answer.
"I didn't know telephones could receive texts."
They look confused.
"What?"
"Yeah, my phone hangs on the kitchen wall."
Then he describes it.
"It's yellow."
"It has a cord."
"It's about thirty feet long."
The poor kid behind the counter starts wondering if he's speaking to a time traveler.
But one of my favorite Sam One stories happened after he got into a little fender-bender out in his new town.
He and the other guy exchanged information.
Sam One gave him his telephone number.
His home phone, naturally. The one hanging on the kitchen wall.
A little while later, a local officer called him. He needed Sam One for a statement. The other party claimed he now needed a police report.
The officer kept calling Sam One.
And calling him.
Finally, the officer left a message on Sam One’s voicemail, which said:
"If you don't answer your phone, I'm going to have to do something about it."
Once Sam One returned to the scene, he contacted the officer, who was seething: “Why didn’t you answer the phone?!”
Sam One explained, "How am I supposed to answer the phone when I'm driving here?"
The officer asked: "What?"
"My phone is in my kitchen."
The officer paused.
"Your kitchen?"
"Yeah."
"It's attached to the wall."
I would have paid cash to hear that conversation.
Imagine trying to explain rotary-phone logic to somebody who was born after the Internet.
The thing is, Chroniclers, we all know a guy like Sam One.
A guy who thinks everybody else is in a hurry while simultaneously being the most impatient person in town.
A guy who refuses to join the modern world but somehow survives anyway.
A guy who complains about old people while living among them, acting exactly like them.
And somehow, despite all of that...
we wouldn't change a thing.
Well… maybe I'd give him unlimited texting.
Just to watch him squirm.
Anyway, Chroniclers...
You know what to do.
Drink 'em if ya got 'em!
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