CELL HELL
It had happened to me before, but I’m a slow study, so I fell victim again.
“Hey there!” the friendly woman said as we crossed paths in the restroom, with her taking the stall I’d just left.
“Hi,” I said, turning to see if she was someone I knew, but the door was already closed.
“So how ya’ doing?” she asked while I was washing my hands. “Been into anything interesting lately?”
“Not especially,” I said. “How about you?”
When she didn’t answer for a while, yet was not exactly silent, I said, “Wow. Sounds like you had a lot of coffee this morning.”
“Just a second, Stacy,” said the voice. “Hey-sorry. I wasn’t talking to you. I’m on a call with someone.”
“Sorry,” I said quickly, then hurried out.
I miss the good old days when it was easy to tell the difference between crazies who were walking around talking to themselves and the people wearing Bluetooth headsets and talking to an actual person.
And I especially miss the good old days when a business call didn’t necessarily mean the person calling was doing their business.
I’m as guilty of extreme multitasking as the next overtaxed person, so I can certainly understand the desire to make use of what was previously just plain down time. But making phone calls from the restroom while seated in that way is one line I won’t cross.
I heard a story on All Things Considered last year about a man who accidentally dropped his Blackberry in airplane toilet. He quickly reached in and retrieved his phone from the swirling pool of dark blue liquid, then cleaned it up as good as he could. The phone still worked well enough that he was able to call his wife as he exited the plane.
It wasn’t until after he’d shaken hands with his client that he learned the blue dye from the phone’s short time in the bowl had been transferred to his face.
I’m not a big fan of cell phones. I understand the convenience, the safety factor, and all the other selling points, but there’s something about being unreachable that appeals to both me and my husband.
It wasn’t until recently that he and I got a cell phone to share. That was four months ago. We haven’t been able to find it for three. I’m not sure either of us has really bothered to look, probably because we feel like hypocrites for owning one consider all the complaining we do about them.
I get annoyed every time I’m behind one of those distracted drivers with a head tilted at that telling angle most use when on a call. Most of them don’t even know they’re weaving outside of their lane. I get especially aggravated when those drivers have a kid or two in the car. Aside from the safety issues, there are few places better for talking with children then when you have them held captive that way.
And while most cell users seem to have grown accustomed to turning off their ringers during movies and live performances, they seem oblivious to how distracting their constant texting can be. That rapid two-handing clicking and brightly lit screen are hard to ignore.
One of my biggest cell peeves is those who take calls and conduct long conversations while out with another person.
While eating dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant recently, one of the two women seated directly across from us received a call. Like us, they had just placed their order, and we watched as the one woman’s phone conversation continued until the food arrived, as the food was eaten, and even after the bill was brought and left on the table. It was only when her dinner companion stood up to pay that she got off the phone.
Still, all the recent technological advances with cell phones are impressive. There’s so much they can do.
It’s just a shame that where manners are concerned, there’s not an app for that, too.
