But what do I do with my hands?

There are some downsides to interning at an aquarium. Oh sure, the perks are pretty nice. There is an assortment of cute crustaceans and charismatic megafauna that I get to play with whenever I please. There are free passes to the aquarium. (It would be kind of a bad gig if I didn't get them, to be fair.) There's the rocking polo shirt with the logo emblazoned on the chest. (But while there's a really cool shirt the outfit is paired with terrible khaki pants. Why do all the nonprofits of the world seem to prefer to clothe their employees in khaki pants? I must know.)

There are definite hazards to the job, though. No, I'm not talking about getting stung by jellyfish or pinched by crabs, that's just a daily fun phenomenon. (Funomenon!) I'm speaking of the definite potential hazard to technology.

It's a salt water environment. There are many open tanks, tasks that take place around and near these tanks, and a need to communicate with one's boss by phone because of the largeness of said aquarium. This combination has always meant a ticking time bomb for my cell. And yesterday it's time was up.

Having a internship that calls for you to feed out brine and other such fish food to some tanks that are six feet tall is a fun experience. (Funsperience? No, perhaps. No.) Sure there may be a ladder, but where's the adventure in that? My boss prefers the climb-and-grab approach: climb onto the tank,  hold onto at least one side of the tank, do your work, and you'll be golden.  Cell phones in pockets were not really factored into this consideration. So yesterday, like every Wednesday when I climb up to feed moon jellies in the top tanks of the aptly named Wet Lab, my cell phone inexplicably slipped out of my pocket and fell into the salt water. It then proceeded to sink to to the bottom gravel next to one very startled horseshoe crab. And then, in its final swan song, my ring tone sounded, L'il Wayne's gospel-like intro to his song "Let the Beat Build." Then it went "pffft" and it was over, the quickest of all kamikaze missions. Maybe it had heard what was inevitably coming to it. For you see I am Flynner, the destroyer of cell phones.

I don't mean to kill them. I love them! I loved all my cell phones, quite literally, to death, all in a great variety of terribly unfortunate and amusing circumstances. There was the time I got tossed into a pool (it happens), the one I lost while traveling in an airport, the one that got smashed in the quad at college, the one that inexplicably stopped working from no influence of my own. (And that is my final statement, officer.) You get the idea.

My parents had purchased me a new phone to celebrate Christmas this year, fa la la. However, when my parents actually bought the phone the phone company, AT&T, politely informed them that they couldn't purchase the insurance offered with the new phone. But why, AT&T? Because they saw me as a liability.

A liability. You make four little mistakes in two years and suddenly you become a cellular company pariah. In my young life I have had no less than seven cell phones (at least the ones I can remember.) Everyone messes up sometimes. But they won't take any chances on me even if I want to pay them extra money. C'mon AT&T- that's not what makes our nation great.

In the wake of my cell's sudden passing I have been forced to walk around the city and ride public transportation with neither a cell phone nor an iPod to accompany me. (My iPod also met its tragic end, a hardware glitch that resulted in me losing thousands of songs. See previous entry, Edge of existence Why yes, I am referencing myself. It is my blog.) Being disconnected from all these distracting tools has left me with a very stripped feeling as I walk and ride around town; suddenly every noise and movement is so present, in my face and demanding attention. Where as before I'd be strolling along listening to Passion Pit or Temper Trap on my morning walk downtown (I have been in a alternative mood as of late) I am now discovering that things actually go on around me when I pay attention. Real things, real life happening all around me. For instance, yesterday I heard a woman in front of me talk about the pants she was wearing for three minutes. Three minutes! They were black pants. I learned a lot. Then there was the couple that was calling each other cutesy pet names and giggling. The guy referred to his girlfriend his "little Jewish cactus." And just think: I would have missed that had I had my iPod on. But I still want to know the backstory. I love me a good backstory, especially those involving cacti and God's chosen people.

Quitting all this technology cold turkey feels eerily similar to those anti-smoking ads I used to see on television. Now that you've quit and no longer need to hold a cigarette, what do you do with your hands? Substitute cigarettes with my cell phone. Most of the time the transition from enjoyable walking experience with cellphone/iPod to the quiet boring walking experience it is now has been pretty seemeless. But there are still a few moments when I seriously question what I should do with and where I should put my hands now that they're empty.

There was always something in my hands as I walked. I was a very busy person. At any given time I could be changing to the next song, talking, texting, beating the high score on Brickbreaker, and other highly important things. Even when I wasn't actively using these things I was still flipping the device in my hands or rubbing it reassuringly to know that, if I so desired, I could be using it. Just the idea of knowing that something is possible is very comforting. My toys had a familiar weight and feel, like a good skipping stone or a lucky rabbit's foot.

But then I went and bathed my social crutch in a bath of cold horseshoe crabbed salt water. Now I am conscious of being uncomfortably aware of my hands. What do I do with them? Did they always hang to my side like this? Every word and action I encounter seems immediate and pressing, uncoddled by any distraction that might have diverted enough attention to make events, long walks, public transportation pass by smoothly and quickly. Stripped of even the reassuring act of holding those tools I am very exposed. I catch myself over compensating for not holding anything as I walk down the street by pumping my hands flamboyantly. These movements feel exaggerated, like they are on display and people are going to be watching what I do. And judging me.

"Oh, she's crossing her arms over her chest. She seems inherently unbalanced, especially as she's taking that corner. And where's the style? I give it a 4. "
"Hm, she went for the double hands in the pockets approach.  Clichéd, overused, but classic. Very James Dean. Maybe a 6.5."
"Is she clapping her hands together right now? Really? That's just not natural, especially if she's walking. A 2 from Russia."

This has been a recurring theme in my life lately. I took a latin dance class with some friends just last week. The dance teacher, an energetic asian woman teaching the art and soul of salsa, was a goddess at movement. She made everything look natural. Her hand movements were purposeful and it all made sense with the dance. Though the mental desire to dance well was there, my body wasn't really into the whole "cohesive graceful movement" vibe I was telling it to exude. I was a fish out of water. An over-thinking, awkward handed fish. But when the class unexpectedly turned from latin dance into a strippercise routine (as they do?) I was right up there with the instructor all thanks to a well-rounded high school eduction. (Public school dances. Enough said.) My hands moved in harmony with my movements, even as we were writhing around on the floor to techno beats.

So maybe it's all about conscious thought, then. Once I was back in my element (...stripping?) I stopped focusing so much on the action. After that everything just came naturally. Maybe my reliance on my cell and my iPod will fade out and I'll be left with the natural ease and solitude that comes from being disconnected from technology. (At least while I'm walking, anyway.) According to my Discovery Kid magazine in middle school it takes 30 days to enforce a habit. Not that I can go 30 days without a cell phone, that's just impractical. And boring. But it is a good life experiment.

I said hello to a policeman on my way to the commuter rail the other day. The rush of interaction and excitement I got overwhelmed me. What if he didn't say hello back?! Is this how the older generations interacted with each other? On the street, in real life, LIVING? How did they let other people know about all these interactions if they couldn't text them afterwards? I am simply fascinated. There is real life happening everywhere, all around me now.

Perhaps I should be grateful to the salt tank that took the life of my phone. And I should definitely apologize to the startled horseshoe crab that lost a few months off his already short life when L'il Wayne started rapping. It happens.