First off, a confession: I do not own a cell phone. Even back in the day, when phones were actually just phones, I harbored a hearty dislike for the busy little instruments. At work, when forced to speak into one, I did so without relish, at least, and often with absolute disgust.
Now the nasty little busy-bodies follow me around without mercy. Standing in line at the register to check out at the grocery store the other day, the woman in line behind me was yakking away into her cell phone. Although it was none of my business that Edna was a problem at work, she did not seem to mind regaling me with this putatively private information. The dirty look I gave her had no apparent effect. Her conversation continued. If she’d held an overloud boombox upon her shoulder, it could not have been more disturbing. I began to wish that I had some kind of handheld airhorn that I could hold out toward her phone and blast at her. This is what I get for being in a market in the middle of the day when I should be off doing more manly things like tuning engines or smoothing new cement, I thought miserably.
On the road, whenever I encounter a vehicle that is moving at a noticeably slow speed, it is usually because the driver, as it turns out, is talking on a cell phone while simultaneously engaged in controlling what is by law a deadly weapon. One might just as well take a pistol safety off and begin spinning it on one’s finger, performing feats of NRA dexterity, in a classroom full of enthralled but unprotected elementary school children.
Telephones have come a long way. They are now also cameras, and computers, and probably other incredible things such as only teenagers and one in 100 congressmen can figure out. As for me, I will continue to glare unforgivingly at people who intrude on other’s privacy by yakking away on their phones in public places. Plus, I’m going to check online to see if I can get a handheld airhorn!