ode to the uncomfortable

Never before have I heard so many voices raised, cursing the god of technology. I arrived on campus three weeks ago, and the internet consisted of one sketchy wireless connection in the lobby of the freshman/sophomore dorms. One could never walk through that spacious lobby without stepping over the legs of laptop users. It was an incredibly good way to meet many of the athletes in my dorm--peering over the blue hazy light of my screen to another smiling face in its own patch of blue light--bonded by the shared quest for the internet. As freshmen arrived on campus for orientation, the internet connection grew sketchier, and the muttered blasphemies became ever so slightly more audible. Now the internet-seeking group in the lobby was larger. Often the girls gave up on the unreliable connection and talked or watched a movie together instead.

Soon all the returning students arrived on campus. The internet became elusive. One evening my teammate and I wandered around campus hunting for someplace, anyplace where we could find a wireless connection. We heard a rumor that a new router had been installed in the music building. We stuck to the trees and bushes and patches of shade as we walked that direction. After dashing across the lawn and leaping through the door, we opened laptop lids and waited. A grin and a high five. Success! We were the queens of the internet hill. But then came a group of boys. Apparently they had heard the rumor too. They found us huddled sneakily behind the ficus tree--perhaps the glowing blue light gave us away. But what times we had! The five of us chatted and joked behind the artificial ficus--all brought together by the thrill of the chase, and made friendly by the warmth of success.

Then came the day that the internet failed all together. For a week, there was no wireless to be found. Not in the broken elevator (holding the left ear between two fingers and extending the elbow to the southeast). Not behind a ficus tree in the music building. Not under the table in the cafeteria. Not inside a rack of sweaters in the bookstore. The wireless connection had left us for good. This is when the curses against the god of technology grew louder. Students clamored. We rallied. We prepared to sacrifice our IT guys on a specially prepared table in the weight room. We had set up our own ipod touch app that would do the job nicely. Just as we all gathered round, ipods extended, ready to appease the technology god, the internet flickered on. There were mixed cheers and murmurs of disappointment. We untied the two men and let them go. We facebooked, we emailed, we myspaced, we IMed. We reconnected to the virtual world which has become so essential to our existence.

Today, there are no internet hunting parties roaming around campus. The lobby is usually empty. There are no jokes shared behind the artificial shrubbery. Everything is back to normal, and I'm not sure that I like it. There is nothing unexpected--we are not forced out of our comfort zone. Now there is internet surfing at the dinner table (via our new ipod touches) and games and music to entertain in every dull moment. Few people walk to class without some sort of gadget in their hand or ear. It saddens me that they are again too caught up in the artificial noises of their ipods and their impersonal pseudo-interactions to breathe deeply of the energy of autumn, even to start a conversation with the person walking next to them. In many senses, I lament the re-establishment of handy technology.