Last week my crew and I overtook Captain Jack’s out in Sumner. That place is a true, Grade-A dive bar. Jell-O shots, cold domestics on tap, and hodgepodge décor — need I say more? We were in heaven. Along with the good times, great service, and cold beer came the homemade clam chowder. Damn that shit was good. I’m a huge creamy-soup fan, that’s for sure. I love the lobster bisques, the broccoli cheddars, and the creamy tomato basils. I love them, you love them, America loves them. But as much as I love those cream-based soups, they tend to hit my gut like my fist hits someone’s face when they use the word “prolly.” C’mon, people! It’s PROBABLY.



Eventually, as the chowder played war games with my bowels, I had to head to the restroom. Fortunately for me, Captain Jack’s restroom had just been updated. It was quite the throne as I sat and pondered the day’s events.



One of the girls within my dive bar crew had a relentless obsession with her cell phone that day. Not so much receiving phone calls and being on the phone, it was more about the text messaging. Oh, don’t worry, I’m not about to deny my love for the unlimited texting service in my mobile phone contract — but at least I keep it respectable and civilized. Not my friend, unfortunately. That girl was texting almost the entire time we were together. It was rude and extremely disrespectful. As we ordered, at the table, during lunch, it was impossible to have a conversation with her. Her priorities were obviously elsewhere, and she was more focused on whom she was texting than whom she was with. I told her to get the hell away from me with that damn phone and all her texting or I was going to throw it in the rainy, flooded Sumner street.



When I text, it’s a quick question, a simple answer, a sudden keen observation, or a witty insult at Pappi Swarner’s expense. Never during a meeting, a lunch date, or when someone is talking to me. If I do, I excuse myself and apologize for being rude. To have a phone conversation is pure agony for me sometimes. I try to avoid it at almost all costs. I will go out of my way to ignore the call, let it go to voicemail, then listen to the message and text the answer back. Don’t lie, I know most of you do the same thing as I do. I simply don’t have the mental patience for bullshit conversation that leads up to the real reason someone called:



“Hey, Steph, how are you … what are you doing … did I call at a good time … oh, I’m fine too … yeah, it rained today … blahblahblah … no, wait Steph, put the gun down … I’m almost to the reason why I called … let me tell you a story first … blahblahblah …”



Good grief! Meaningless conversation like that is pure torture. It’s like re-living Thanksgiving dinner with the in-laws every day of the year. My friends by now know to either text me what they have to say, or call me and begin the conversation with these three simple words, “Hey, quick question …”



If you want a personal, one-on-one conversation, let’s meet for coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine. Aw, hell, I’ll tell you anything you want to hear as long as you buy me a few stiff ones. Text me and I’ll let you know when I’m available. Kthx.



So there. Texting has its limits, it has its guidelines, and there is a respectable way to do it.