The Richter Scale^®

It used to be that people would excuse themselves from a conversation, a meal, or other gathering to sneak out for a quick smoke, but make up some other sort of excuse because they either were ashamed of their addiction, or because they didn’t want others to know they smoked or found smoking more important than staying put.

My old friend Gina (a former Good Morning America technology trend reporter, among many other things) comes to mind. She used to sneak out for smokes during meals so that her husband Henry wouldn’t know that she was still smoking. But Gina, if you’re reading this, Henry knew.

That sort of sneakiness still happens with smoking, but less so. The new addiction and habit of many (myself included) is portable e-mail in the form of a BlackBerry, Treo, or other wireless device (my e-mail device is a T-Mobile Sidekick III).

While some folks are blatant in their public use of portable e-mail devices, others are a bit more circumspect, especially when in the company of spouses who abhor the glazed-over look that comes into an e-mail addict’s eyes which start to reflect the miniature text on the screen of their devices, while their thumbs fly across tiny keyboards.

Once an e-mail addict gets sucked into a message exchange, all hopes of meaningful verbal communications are shot (which is why the spouses object, no doubt).

So, those of us aware of our addictions, but unable to completely wean ourselves from our devices (there’s no Nicorette for BlackBerrys), have resorted to the old smoker’s “sneak”. We excuse ourselves under some pretense, such as needing to visit the restroom (which may be a real need) to mask the fact that as soon as we’re out of sight, out comes the BlackBerry or Sidekick, and we’re on-line, checking mail, reading and responding to the latest missives. And just as my friend Gina did, we delude ourselves that our friends and spouses don’t know what we’re doing.

So, how can you spot a closet e-mail addict?

First, they twitch a little every so often - usually on the right side of their body. That comes from when their portable e-mail device has buzzed them in vibrate mode to indicate that a message has arrived.

Second, shortly after “The Twitch”, they excuse themselves from your company.

Third, they spend more time away than is anticipated.

And lastly, when they return, they seem distracted, because they are still thinking about the e-mails they exchanged.

In closing, and in defense of e-mail addicts everywhere, at least we don’t return smelling like an ashtray (that’s how Henry knew, Gina), nor are our habits aurally invasive (unlike the chronic cell phone users who feel they need to share their ring-tones and voiced opinions with all around them).
Or at least that’s how I rationalize my e-mail addiction. And I continue to hope I’m fooling my wife.