A school workshop I dropped in on recently featured three speakers. The keynote speaker, who’d traveled from Albuquerque to share her knowledge got paid for her services. The other two speakers, well, they kind of performed gratis.
These secondary speakers, adults only because of chronology, weren’t on the agenda. Instead, they carried on an audible conversation, replete with giggles and grimaces, while the main, hired, speaker gave her talk. Why is it that those who feel the urge to talk and create other distractions never think of taking the conversation outside? And why is it that too many people on cell phones simply assume the whole world cares about their conversations?
My lay observations lead me to believe that few people listen anymore. Their concentration spans are virtually non-existent, and they’re assaulted from all directions with competing forces. Somehow that’s supposed to make our input fascinating, while we regard others’ speech as drivel. So it becomes a question not only of heeding others’ words but of protocol.
Let me explain:
A letter to the editor discussed the inattention a couple of high school boys displayed during a baccalaureate service at Immaculate Conception Church. The writer mentioned that one boy kept fiddling with his cell phone, apparently sending text messages. The writer mentioned that the boys were engaged in audible conservation and appeared not to have heard much of the sermon. Well that would never have flown in my youth.
But I forego relating another tale of the pain and agony sure to befall anyone who even breathed improperly in church. That’s the subject for another column. But where was I? Oh yes, back to attention spans and the need for stimulation.
Go to public meetings and you’ll find adults chatting while the main speaker is giving a talk. Go to any graduation ceremony and you’ll see some people filing out as soon as their ‘jito or ‘jita picks up his or her diploma, often done in alphabetical order, which leaves Zenon Zamora in an empty auditorium to pick up his sheepskin.
Highlands’ commencement two years ago was business as usual: beach balls being tossed around; shooting Silly String, hooting and hollering, depending on who walked across the stage.
Contrast that with commencement exercises of the past, which were almost as solemn as church services (are supposed to be). In my H.U. graduating class in 1966, an institution named Dean Ray Farmer rehearsed us on protocol as we got ready to march. There was to be no shouting, no lateness, no talking, no absences, no excuses and no exceptions.
Marching close to me was a local icon, a friend from childhood, who’d remained in college nine years to get his B.A. degree. Why did it take so long? A couple of years were devoted solely to repeating courses he’d flunked years before. It says much for determination. To my knowledge, even sporting a grade-point-average of zero some school terms, he remained long enough to accumulate the necessary credits.
When the dean announced my friend’s name, there was loud, sustained cheering. We’d never heard such noise outside of a sporting event, and since commencements were like church services, many people were shocked.
For the rest of us, hearing our name meant scattered, polite applause from the audience; in my friend’s case, the auditors became quite vocal spectators. And my friend loved the attention.
Virtually any event today comes with built-in cheering. Otherwise-solemn events take on the air of pep rallies; cell phone conversations compete with speeches, plays and movies. The actor Kevin Spacey is said to have been performing live on Broadway when a cell phone rang in the audience. In the middle of a romantic scene, without missing a beat, Spacey said, “Tell them you’re busy.”
The issue here is a growing lack of respect for other’s space, and when people are moving swiftly through space, it can be dangerous. For example, on a recent trip to Santa Fe in our small car, I noticed a girl, obviously in her mid-teens and weighing all of 80 pounds, propelling a huge dualie as it entered the freeway near Rowe.
Naturally, I moved to the left lane, which I’m told we’re supposed to do, and noticed a party-time atmosphere in the 2005 six-wheeler pickup next to us. There were four teenie-boppers in front, none buckled, as far as we could tell. The driver appeared to be having quite a spirited conversation on her cell phone.
As we continued driving, the large truck started crowding us, forcing us toward the median. My anemic horn didn’t faze them, until one of the passengers alerted the driver, who after all had been too busy chatting to pay attention to her driving. Her veering into our lane obviously wasn’t on purpose; I’m convinced she hadn’t ever noticed us.
When she finally snapped that we’d been forced to slow way down to avoid a collision, the driver apparently became amused, then blushed a little, gave us a one-finger salute and took the next exit, sans turn signals.
I’d exaggerate to claim we felt in mortal danger on the freeway. But yet, I have no doubt that it never occurred to the driver of the pickup that there were others on the highway. Rather, I-25 is her playground, and several tons of steel make it all the more fun.
Whether the invasion of people’s space comes in the form of competing conversations, unsolicited cell phone calls or inattentive driving, the reality seems to be that the situation will only get worse. To my own surprise, I’m growing accustomed to invasions into my space.
Well, maybe not. It’s 11:30 and here comes our nightly neighborhood travelling techno-playing driver in a car with the amps ramped, on his way to see his girlfriend. Nice of him to share his “music” with us.