Have you noticed that it isn’t getting better? The cell phones
are getting smaller, but the conversations are getting bigger
– no matter how much you glare or stare, people are still
talking louder and louder in public places.
Have you noticed that it isn’t getting better? The cell phones are getting smaller, but the conversations are getting bigger – no matter how much you glare or stare, people are still talking louder and louder in public places.
Nowadays a person can’t venture anywhere without hearing half of a private conversation. It’s not like I’m trying to listen, but how can you ignore a man standing behind you at the gas station loudly describing all of the details of his office romance? Or a woman in the grocery store clutching a phone and quietly sobbing into the Portabello mushrooms? This just seems wrong.
But the real reason I resent people taking up my peaceful air space with their lively, animated conversations, is that they, somehow, look more important than the rest of us. It might be because of the way they disregard society’s rules by laughing and talking in normally quiet places. Or perhaps it’s because of the way they inadvertently let the rest of the world know they have a life.
So, I decided to do something I vowed I never would: took my cell phone out of the glove compartment (kept there only for emergencies), upped my monthly plan, and handed out my cell phone number to everyone I knew. Soon I too would be vivaciously tossing my head back and broadcasting to the world that I am both important and mysterious.
However, the first time the phone rang I was trying on a bathing suit at the store and, by the time I had covered myself up, it stopped.
Fortunately, the second time, my luck changed and I was in line at a crowded, upscale boutique.
I held the phone to my ear at a jaunty angle, threw my head back, and said “hello” in a sultry voice.
“Mom?” my 9-year-old son said. “Where are my soccer cleats?”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I can’t find my soccer cleats!”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so,” I laughed loudly. “Hors d’oeuvres at eight sounds great.”
“Mom?”
I quickly looked around wispered, “They’re in the upstairs bathroom on the hamper.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“See you then!” I said and hung up.
I made it all the way to the parking lot before it rang again.
“They’re not on the hamper.”
“Where’s your father!”
“He’s busy, but he said it was OK to call you now since you have a phone.”
All in all, I received 16 calls in two days – none of them from anyone who can drive. Now, I know what you are thinking. Any fool with children would’ve seen this coming. And you’re right. I bet that they would have seen my bill coming, too: $234.57.
So I did the only reasonable thing . I turned the phone off and tossed it back into the glove compartment. After all, call me crazy, but why should I pay for the convenience of solving problems and breaking up fights long distance when I could stay home and do it all for free?
