Cell Phones

     Every time I see someone at the store verifying what kind of milk to get, or have car trouble and need a ride, or the other countless wonderful uses for them, I ask myself: "What did we do before cell phones?" Then I remember: we spoke to each other like civilized people!

     Really, every sentence should not start with: "Hold on" and then a moving of the phone. We should not be able to share your entire day with you. I don't want to. Really. And I'm just guessing here, but I'm pretty sure whoever you're "talking" to doesn't really care, either.

     And who is on the other end of the phone? I would never sit there listening while somebody who was supposed to be talking to me was ordering the biggee fries. Unless the other end is ordering a large pepperoni, of course. Why do we need to share so much information with so many people? Do any of us even really care?

    Not to mention, we are setting a horrible example. There are thumb rings now for kids, to remind them not to text while driving. We have to tell them not to text while driving! Nobody had to tell me not to read while driving, why is this necessary? But it's not their fault; they have grown up only seeing their parents with things stuck to the side of our heads! Talking to everyone under the sun except them! They think it belongs there, much like we assumed the cigarettes belonged in our parents' hands. They cannot fathom a world where we cannot all instantly communicate our most shallow of thoughts to others with equally shallow thoughts who will apparently die if they don't share!


     And a short aside to the bluetooth users here. We don't really see the thing on your ear. We just see you talking, seemingly to yourself, and we think you are probably a little crazy. You needed to know.


     I got home from work last week to find my husband at the kitchen counter with his cell phone in pieces and a blow dryer. I didn't ask, but he told me anyway. He dropped it in the toilet. (Don't worry: I sanitized! Twice. Well, three times.) I didn't say what was going through my head, because he's ignored it all before. But seriously. Dropped your phone in the toilet? You can't be cut off from civilization long enough to take a shit? Seriously? Why do you take your phone to the bathroom? Who are you going to call? It better not be me, I do not want to talk to you right now. And if I call you, well, that's what voicemail is for! This is a man who has left his phone in the cart at the grocery store, left his phone on the counter of every place he's ever shopped, left his phone, well, everywhere. Even in the toilet. He refuses to leave the house without it. Worse, he refuses to leave it in the car. He has answered his phone while driving, at restaurants, even in a movie theater!

     Right now, I want to formally apologize to Laura Bush. The entire time her husband was President, every time he said "nu-coo-ler" I thought: "She's a librarian! Why has she never taught her husband to read?" Now I realize it is totally not her fault. You just can't teach these wonderful creatures we call men anything! So Laura, I am sorry. And world, when you see my husband yakking on that damn cell phone at the most inappropriate times, I tried. I have been trying to teach him for 11 years now, he just does not get it!

     We were at Taco Bell. Granted, not the epitome of fine dining, but a public place nonetheless. His phone rings. I say: "If you are going to answer that, take it outside."

     His response: "Why? Everybody else talks on the phone in restaurants."

     I say "No, everybody else does not, just you. And even if other people did, that doesn't make it OK. Nobody wants to hear you talking to someone who isn't even here. Focus on the people here with you. We are more important."

     "How do you know you're more important than the person calling?"

     "Simple. I bothered to show up."

     He did not agree with that statement, though I think it is pure genius. The people with you should feel like they are more important than some random person calling you. For that simple reason. We bothered to show up. I did more than push a button, I am here. I deserve your attention, just as you deserve mine. We finished our meal, with "Leroy" pretty much agreeing with me. He added that it is embarrassing to him when Dad is talking loudly on the phone in public. (This has done nothing to change his behavior, either.) As we walked outside, there sat a random woman on the curb, talking on her cell phone. I could have kissed her right there. Instead, "Leroy" took it for me. "See, Dad? She went outside!" Not as good as asking permission to flip off people, but wow do kids say the darndest things.

     Cell phone addicts: I have some news for you. You're not going to like it, it may hurt your ego a bit. But you need to hear it, "Cleveland" included. Here it is. You are not that important. I'm sorry. I know that hurt. But it's true. You are not that important. The world will survive without you long enough to catch a movie. It will continue to turn while you eat your dinner. Nobody is going to go off the deep end in the time it takes you to shit. I promise. Why? Because you are not that important. Take a minute and see the good of this. You are not Atlas. It is not your job to keep the world afloat. Or even your family and friends. They can handle it without you for a little bit. You are not that important. Thank you.

     I need to go now. I think I hear my phone ringing.