Jill Thomas is a rambler, traveler, and storyteller with a big laugh who thinks its funny how life leads you right where you need to be, however the roundabout path.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but it seems like many series and movies today occur in the late nineties and early 2000s featuring characters using landlines or flip phones and driving vintage Volvos.
Yesterday I watched Nomi's Pic, From Scratch for a second time. If you’re craving a good love story, it is a beautiful gut-wrenching must-watch, although my friend Cathy Wade thought it was sappy. The story takes place between 2000 and 2004, which feels like home to me.
While watching, I thought to myself, “How is it possible that 2002 was over two decades ago?” Emotionally the early 2000s feel immediate. It was when I came of age and started my life as a graduated adult.
I like watching TV from this period because I feel homesick for the simplicity of not having the world’s overwhelming dysfunction at my fingertips. So for me, landlines are a powerful symbol of this simpler time.
Remember crank calls? As kids, we’d pick random numbers in the phone book, dial them, and say, “Is your fridge running? Well, you better go catch it!” Then laugh ourselves silly while enjoying the adrenaline rush of safe delinquency.
When I was little, children were taught phone etiquette, to say things like, “Hello, Mrs. Ritchie. Is Diane home?” I learned this lesson the hard way when I called my best friend in first grade, asking for him without saying hello to his mom first, and she screamed, “Henrick, your very rude friend Jill is on the phone.”
In grade six, I had my first crush on David Linstead. He played the piano at the school assemblies and was a foot taller than all the other boys. I remember expressing my devotion to him by deliberately running him over with my Crazy Carpet on a snow day.
I also called his house, hoping he’d answer, and if he did, I’d hang up and bask in the illicit thrill of hearing his voice.
I clearly remember my embarrassment in the early nineties when I called a boy I liked, then lost my nerve and hung up when his mom answered. She called me back and said, “Who is this?” and, in doing so, introduced me to the invention of (star) *69. I dare you to say, “Remember *69 to a twenty-something,” and then laugh at their shocked facial expression because they think you’re talking about a sexual position.
I even remember my Grandmother’s rural party line in southern Alberta. My cousin Dale Jensen and I would carefully release the phone from its cradle, put our hands over the receiver to avoid detection, and gleefully listen to her neighbors gossiping.
How is it possible that we’ve gone from this to having a miniature computer with us at all times, which we still refer to as “my phone” and yet rarely use to actually talk to people?
Sometimes I still find myself saying, “Hi, it’s Jill,” when someone answers my call, only to have a millennial colleague who is a little irritated that I called them in the first place respond, “Yeah, I know it's you, dumbass. Why are you calling me?”
If you want to escape to a simpler time this week, I recommend watching From Scratch, and in the meantime, I’ve changed my voicemail to say, “Don’t leave me a message because I never check them. If you need to get a hold of me, please text or email.
I’d love to hear in the comments what you remember about life before smartphones!
READ MORE > JT's Tales From The Trail
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