“Can we go to the concert, Mom? It’s no big deal....” says my teenage son as his younger brother nods in agreement.
I'm not excited about the idea, but I don't feel like arguing.
"I guess so," I say to them, as they race to the front door.
After they've gone I get to thinking about their comment, “No big deal.” How many times have I heard this phrase? We all use it without thinking. But, oddly enough, in these modern times there seems to be almost nothing left in life that isn’t a big deal. Take something as simple as a phone call.
Used to be, if I wanted to call a business to get information about a product or service, all I did was look up the number in the phone book, dial the phone, then talk to the person who answered at the other end. Not any more. Now a machine answers and gives me a list of “options.”
“Press 1 if you wish to place an order; press 2 if you wish to return an order; press 3 if you wish to have information sent to you,” and finally, “press 4 if you wish to speak to someone in the customer service department.”
All I want to do is check the price of computer paper. This information isn’t available through options 1-3. I have to speak to a human, so I confidentally choose option 4, only to have the line answered by another machine that says, “everyone in the customer service department is busy right now, but please hold, or push 1 to get back to the order desk. Or push 5 if you would like to leave a message.”
And I thought this was going to be a quick, simple phone call. I decide I’ll never find out what I need to know, and it would be too silly to leave a message, so I choose the only option the machine hasn’t allowed for - I hang up.
Now, hungry from the frazzling phone call, I decide to get something to eat. No big deal. There’s a drive-through window at the chicken place around the corner. Since the boys are out for the evening I'll get my husband and myself some dinner.
I hop in the car, drive to the restaurant, and place my order.
“I’d like 2 number 2’s , please,” I say to the speaker on the menu board.
“Will that be crispy, extra crispy, barbequed, rotesserie roasted, or original recipe?” a garbled voice shoots back.
Time to click on the old brain, again. Even a couple of chicken dinners require some decisions.
“Uh... original recipe,” I say, squinting at the menu board again.
“The number 2 comes with 2 side orders from column 3, m’am.”
My mind flashes back to years ago when I would come to this same restaurant and order chicken. It always came with mashed potatoes, gravy, cole slaw, and a biscuit. No decisions, necessary. What happened?
I study the big menu board, but it takes me 5 minutes just to find column 3.
“Baked beans, and corn, for both orders, please,” I say finally.
“Something to drink?” asks the voice.
“Root beer,” I say, boldly.
“We have Sprite, Dr Pepper, Orange Crush, Mountain Dew, and Coke, m’am,” the voice says impatiently.
“Okay. ..two Cokes,” I answer.
“What size?” asks the annoying voice.
“Medium,” I say, almost automatically.
“We have large or small, ma’m,” the voice screeches back.
“Small then,” I mumble, feeling my blood sugar sink to a new low.
At long last, I drive home with my two chicken dinners.
After we’ve eaten our dinners, my husband decides he wants some of the new chocolate cookies he’s seen advertised on TV. As he describes them to me, they sound so good I say I’ll drive to the store to get some.
“Back in a few..., “ I tell him. “No big deal.”
But when I’ve been gone for nearly an hour, I'm sure my husband must be ready to come looking for me. Finally I walk in the front door with two grocery sacks. My husband eyes me nervously.
“What’s all that?” he asks, as I dump the sacks onto the table.
“Well, I wasn’t sure which cookies you wanted and I got confused reading the labels. Did you want the low fat? Or the no fat? Or the reduced fat? Or the lite cookies?
Now my husband looks confused.
“I think I wanted them WITH fat,” he says, scratching his head. “They’re cookies...”
“Not to worry. I bought them all,” I tell him.
It isn’t long before our sons are home from the concert. They trudge into the family room where my husband and I are about to relax with some television. My older son snatches the remote from the coffee table and flips through 37 stations.
“Nothing on,” he says dryly.
I could argue the point with him. After all, it’s hard to know what's on when you only see flashes and muffled sounds as he surfs through all the stations at the speed of light.
“So... let’s rent something,” suggests my younger son. And then he uses that popular phrase once again, "no big deal."
I listen as they haggle over, not only which video to rent, but which video store to go to. Finally I can’t take it any more.
"I'm going to bed," I tell them. "It's the only thing left in life that really is NO BIG DEAL."
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