A Brief Encounter with Someone from the Analog Age

A 42-year-old Sydney resident has today admitted to growing up under what can only be described as Stone Age conditions.

The shocking confession came during a casual lunchtime conversation at a suburban café, when Peter R., a self-described “analog native,” revealed to a table of younger colleagues that he memorised phone numbers. By choice.

“I still know my childhood best friend’s number,” Peter reportedly said, in what many interpreted as either a cry for help or false modesty.

Eyewitnesses confirmed a brief silence followed, as the table tried to compute life without a contacts app or call history.

Things escalated quickly.

Sources say Peter went on to describe the experience of taking rolls of film to a chemist, waiting a full week, and then collecting 24 blurry, thumb-covered photos—and paying for the privilege.

“It was exciting,” he claimed, unconvincingly.

According to witnesses, Peter also confessed to making something called a mixtape by taping songs off the radio using a double-deck cassette player and an unreasonable amount of hope.

“That’s how you showed someone they mattered,” he said, before quietly sipping his long black while everyone else stared at their phones, refusing to make eye contact.

Colleagues say Peter didn’t stop there.

“He started talking about school projects,” said Sophie L., a 25-year-old marketing assistant. “There were no Google Slides, apparently. Just scissors, glue sticks, and some sort of archaic pilgrimage to Officeworks.”

Other reported horrors included:

• Watching one TV episode per week, then waiting seven whole days for the next one
• Discovering new music via a friend’s older sibling, not an algorithm
• Leaving the house to find people rather than checking if they were ‘active now’
• Having a pen pal—as in, writing letters. On paper. With a pen.

Perhaps most damning of all, Peter revealed that social gatherings known today as “group chats” were once referred to as sleepovers—a term met with visible discomfort by the younger members of the table.

“It was just people… in a room. Talking. All at once. No muting,” Peter added, in what some described as a boast and others as a tragic flashback.

Despite his best efforts to defend these primitive customs, the mood at the table was described as “gently horrified.”

Peter has since been encouraged to submit his memories to the Powerhouse Museum for archiving and preservation.

No charges have been laid, but the group has agreed he is no longer allowed to use the phrase “back in my day” without prior written consent.