I used to hate cell phones, but now I see the error of my ways. It's cell phone users that I hate. Though I can't deny the convenience of having one of these handy little contraptions, I have grown to despise the unspoken ‘Cell Phone User Manual' that most people abide by.
Rule Number One: No matter how many times you see that ‘Please Turn Off All Cell Phones and Pagers' ad before a movie, never turn it off. Bonus marks if you are talking on your cell as this ad plays.
Rule Number Two: Talk or text on your phone as often as possible, preferably in crowded or quiet public places, and always about personal matters.
Rule Number Three: If you're not lucky enough to be talking or texting on your cell, compulsively check your phone for any possibility of missed messages. And if you can do this in an obvious manner while your in-person companion is telling you about their recently deceased mother, all the better.
I can still remember life pre-cellular phone and, if you can believe this, pre-answering machine. If someone called and you weren't there to pick up, they let the phone ring a dozen or so times and then finally hung up with nothing more than a shrug of their shoulders. These days Cell Phone Babies have no concept of not being able to get a hold of someone ASAP, a matter they seem to feel is their God-given right.
A year and a half ago I made the decision not to own a cell phone anymore. Or rather, all the zeros in my bank account made the decision for me not to own a cell phone (or any other luxuries, like shampoo) anymore. I was actually happy at the thought, as it had gotten to the point, just prior to excommunicating myself from the ecclesiastical world of mobiles, where my phone was ringing and beeping and vibrating all day long, and the more it cried out for my attention, the more stubbornly I resisted. Finally, it just got too expensive to ignore people and I gave it up. I wasn't some Wall Street broker whose livelihood depended on time-sensitive information, so I figured that anyone who wanted to reach me could leave a message on my home answering machine and wait until I was good and ready to return their call.
The freedom from being tethered to a communication device was unbelievable, but what I hadn't anticipated was everyone else's reaction to my choice. Friends, family, colleagues and even the receptionist in my doctor's office constantly harassed me about why in God's name I didn't take their call. ‘I thought you were dead!' ‘Did someone kidnap you?' ‘What have I done to make you hate me so?' were some of the exclamations I had to put up with. Explaining to someone that I did not own a cell phone was usually met with blank stares or outright hostility, as though it were a personal attack on them.
True, I once entirely missed a lunch date because my friend and I accidentally went to separate restaurants and she couldn't get hold of me until it was too late. And on another occasion I ran out of gas and had to trudge the six blocks to and from the gas station in heels instead of being able to call for help. But I understood that freedom was not without its sacrifice, and for me this was worth it.
Until my 83 year-old grandmother called me one day from her garden with her new cell phone. Holding my rotary phone, I suddenly felt foolish and outdated. The day a woman who was born prior to the invention of penicillin, computers and bubble gum - bubble gum for crying out loud! - made me look like the cantankerous old woman, was the day my cell phone and I renewed our vows. The shampoo could wait.
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