The other day I was riding on the train during my morning commute to London, preparing for a manic day in the run-up to a new website launch. I was making my to-do list for the day, struggling ever so slightly for space in the crowded, bouncy seat. I was just hitting the end of my very long list, starting to frown pensively about just how much there was to do, when the 20-something lass in the seat next to me cheered me up immensely.
She tapped me on the shoulder (I had my headphones on and was deep in thought), and she told me it was ‘cool’ how I clearly could record information so easily. ‘Awesome’, she called it.
I explained that it was great for me because unlike my old tablet, it was literally instant on/off and it could go weeks or even months between recharges. Not perfect though, I explained, because the erase function is a little messy and cut/paste needs a separate tool and like many tablets it fares badly in contacts with moisture. However, security is excellent and other than shoulder surfing, it is immune from covert surveillance and the contents would not without great effort inadvertently end up on somebody’s Facebook page, on Google or worse – a competitor’s website.
I then demonstrated my favourite feature of this ‘cool’ analogue stylus and tablet technology by ceremoniously dropping it on the floor, picking it up and showing her that it still worked. I invited her to reciprocate with her old-school but sleekly styled tablet, but she declined, saying that it simply didn’t measure up in terms of robustness.
I then popped the stylus (a Parker mechanical pencil) into my pocket, my tablet (a 200-sheet spiral-bound A4 notebook) into my rucksack, smiled about my ‘awesome’ technology, thanked the lass for making my day and hopped happily off the train.