(Note: exaggerated whinging)
A gaggle of teenage girls on the train yesterday morning, joyfully debating the benefits of getting off at Malvern or Flinders Street. (huh? They’re miles apart). It eventually became clear that they were heading to St Kilda. (Why not any of the myriad of other stations then?)
But then they started on the activity that most train goers would dread the most: yes, that’s right… comparing mobile phone ringtones.
One held aloft a friend’s phone. “I’m just trying to find the one I use,” followed by a myriad of beeps. Why for heaven’s sake?
Another gleefully lunged for her own phone from her bag, pressed a couple of buttons and yet another travesty of a mystery tune (at least to me) emanated from it.
“Oh MY God!” was the reaction from her peers, obviously seeing some positive attribute in the monotonic tune that I couldn’t quite detect. “You have GOT to send that to me.”
“I can’t,” came the reply. Ah the joys of copy protected ringtones. Small mercies. The populace should be forever grateful that there’s no easy way of spreading the pain around.