Curse of the Crackberry

(From the Janesville Messenger, 5-20-07)

Once upon a time, we lived in a world where we used a telephone to communicate with our business clients, we met face-to-face to sign contracts, and if we were on the road, we found a pay phone to call our office. We sent typed or handwritten letters and thank you notes through the U.S. Mail. And when we were in the office, we actually spoke to our co-workers.

Then technology stepped in, bringing us the fax machine, the personal computer, e-mail and the cellular phone. Communication has now gotten so impersonal, we e-mail our co-workers from twenty feet away.

When cell phones first started taking hold, I resisted getting one. I didn’t want to be bothered everywhere I went, especially in the car. That was my uninterrupted quiet time to listen to music, relax and think. Then the company I worked for supplied me a cell phone, and I took to it like Barry Bonds to steroids.

Fast forward a few years. The latest of these improvements to daily living is called the Blackberry. For those of you not familiar with this device, the best way I can describe it is that it is your business connected to your hip. This handheld gadget is your cell phone, your address book, your calendar, your e-mail program, your Internet browser, your photo album and your alarm clock, all in one.

I didn’t want a “Crackberry,” as these addictive devices are derisively called. But once again, my workplace forced my evolution by providing me one. It is a blessing. And a curse.

The Blackberry is a blessing because everything you need is at your fingertips. Waiting for an important e-mail? No problem. Need to know some background on a prospect? Don’t have a client’s phone number in your address book? Heck, you want to know the score of the Brewers game? You have the Internet in your hands. It is the truth, it is the way. The Blackberry is a gift from God.

Or maybe it’s from Satan. For example, participating in a golf outing recently, the Blackberry would not let me escape my office. It used to be that if someone wanted you and you weren’t available, it waited until tomorrow. Not any more. My Blackberry was constantly buzzing. I need this information now, the e-mails said, and you can’t hide, I know you’re receiving this. So while my foursome was teeing off, I’m typing messages on the microscopic keyboard, handling whatever I was told couldn’t wait. Or negotiating on my cell phone because “the client wants to wrap this up now.” The only good thing was that it took my mind off my pathetic golf game.

I can’t put the Blackberry down. I have to constantly check my messages. At times, I try to resist. I want to throw it into the deepest part of the Rock River, but I know I can’t. Even if I did, it would probably re-emerge from the depths to find me, like Jason in “Friday the 13th.”

Then suddenly I see it: the key to my escape, the way to restore my sanity, my last hope of inner peace. What is this beast’s Achilles heel?

It’s the “off” button.