I used to be one of those people who complained bitterly about those folks who drove cars, sat on buses, ate in posh restaurants, got their hair done or worse still, they were in the midst of conversation with you - and their crime? They talked on their cell phones, dangerously close to infringing noise bylaws.
Previous to the last decade, I wonder how people managed to survive without cell phones. Why is it now that some people can’t choose a halibut from the fish selection at the supermarket without consulting their nearest and dearest. Would “dinner” be monumentally ruined if they picked the wrong fish?
But this is not the end of the woe. What is worse is that there are phones with cameras on board so now you can send home a picture of the fish that you are about to serve at the dinner table. I can just imagine the conversation between a husband at the store, and his wife sitting at the computer at home.
“Honey,” she says, “the halibut looks a tad green around the gills to me. Get me a picture of the rainbow trout”.
“No, honey,” she says after seeing the next downloaded picture, “I need to see the whole of the fish, not just its gills.”
Where will it all end? Maybe there will be a groundswell of dislike against intrusive cell phone users, and we’ll see them having to join the ranks of smokers shivering outside buildings, the omni present phone attached to their ears.
I like the system in Australia. I found out when I was visiting Sydney that if the police catch you driving while you are on the phone, you get a ticket. Tickets add up to points on your license. Too many points and your license is suspended. I’d be in favour of having that law in place here. But I’d go further and ban the use of cell phones in restaurants. There is nothing more annoying than when your delightful meal is interrupted by the shrill ring of the cell phone in the next booth. There is then the scramble to find the phone, followed by one very loud half of a conversation. Of course, it’s almost impossible not to try and imagine what is being said at the other end of the phone.
“Hello”A brief silence follows.
“I’m in the middle of dinner, can I call you back?” This is good news, she is trying to end the call quickly. No but wait…
“You did what on the patio?”
This is said quite loudly. I think the whole restaurant is tuned into this now.
“With..”
“No way!” A pregnant pause follows.
“Where is Barry ?”Then she lowers her voice.“Listen. Put some clothes on. I’ll be over in half an hour”
“Bye.”
Unfortunately the woman who took the call in the neighbouring booth was alone so we never found out the whole story.
I recently witnessed a cell phone being put to an excellent use. I was in a café with rustic, but rickety, tables and chairs. Our table wobbled precariously, the bowls of steaming hot soup threatened to spill with every movement. Looking round for something to wedge under the offending table leg, the only item available was my friend’s cell phone. This did the job perfectly.
However there was one small problem. Half way through the meal, the phone rang. My friend scurried under the table to answer it. Meanwhile a waiter helped me steady the table to prevent tomato soup from running all over the tabletop. Fortunately the phone conversation was brief and the phone resumed its rightful place beneath the table.
Despite deep misgivings, a year ago I broke down and bought a cell phone. I went into business with a partner. We installed computer equipment at medical practices and we needed to be available for clients to call at all hours of the day and night. Sure, the phone came in handy in the early days, but hardly used after that. It soon became clear that I needed to get the minimum package because I only used the phone once in a blue moon, like if my rust bucket excuse for a car gave up the ghost along a dark rainy road with no payphone for miles. I loved my car dearly but she could be cantankerous and recently she started consuming enough oil to keep Kuwait busy for generations to come.
So on Sunday I decided to was time to go into the mall to switch monthly phone packages. First major problem, I couldn't remember my cell phone number. Bright Spark here hadn't charged up the phone. It was dead as a dodo. And of course the number was in the address book in the phone's memory. I’ve heard of people who put the phone in the oven in an attempt to revive it, but that sounded very dubious to me, almost as suspect as putting the phone in the microwave. Somewhat ridiculously, I ended up calling a friend on a regular phone and got him to tell me what my own phone number was. So dead phone in hand with dead phone's number, I marched into the store asking to change the package. The woman smiled at me very pleasantly whilst telling me she couldn't help me but she knew someone who could. She gave me the number to call, but could not help suggest that there was a stylish new pink phone that “everyone was buying” that she could highly recommend to me. I hurried out of the store clutching the telephone company’s number.
So fast forward back home. I was determined to settle this now and not pay one more cent than I needed to. I dialed the phone company. I got the telephone menu labyrinth from hell. No, I don't speak French. No, I don't want billing information. No, I don't know my pass code. (It's probably the name of the fluffy rabbit I had as a child or the nickname of my big-eared biology teacher.) No, I won't pass go and collect two hundred dollars. I kept on forgetting which menu I was in and tried to get back to the top so I could find which sequence of buttons to press to speak to a live person, as opposed to a lifeless recording. I had to re-dial the phone number and start from scratch three times. Finally I got a message saying that I could speak to a customer service representative the following morning. It was clearly time to have a glass of red wine and seethe.
Next morning I dialled the phone company from work and after waiting for ten minutes I got through to an amiable sounding woman. We sailed through the details until she asked me my date of birth as identification. I was in an open plan office. So I whispered the answer as I really wanted the guy in the next cubicle to think I was still in the vicinity of twenty nine.
Anyway the upshot of all this is that I cut down my allowable minutes on the blasted phone to virtually nil. I would wean myself off soon enough. And then I could go back to complaining about Simon the Stockbroker who sat in front of me on the bus each morning and bought one stock and for all I know probably sold it at triple the price by the time we arrived downtown. Better still, maybe I could get his number and have rogue callers ringing him at 5am to ensure he got no sleep, missed the bus and left us all in peace.
Excuse me while I go turn my cell phone off. Hmm, not necessary, it's still as dead as a blooming dodo.
