You Did Not Just Take a Phone Call in the Bathroom
I mean, yeah, you totally did. But you shouldn't.
I'm even more sensitive to cell phone abuse since Zach and I have totally swallowed our pride and our Luddite street cred by signing up for a cell phone plan. "But we can never, ever use them," Zach said. "I don't want to be one of those people."
When I first moved to Virginia, Cult Leader Josh met me at the airport with a cell phone. "You'll need this," he said. "In case we need to get in touch with you or in case you get lost. The D.C. area's a lot bigger than Oregon."
I was one of Those People with my first cell phone. I talked on it loudly. I thought, "Folks totally want to hear what I have to say because The Playwright Shawn Marie and I are the funniest people I've ever heard." It's because of my extended phone calls with Shawn Marie that I now probably have a tumor the size of Rhode Island nestled somewhere above my hippocampus.
When Zach and I first started dating, I had the cell phone. "I wish you wouldn't call me on it," he said. "I hate it. I can't hear anything you say, which is odd, because it sounds like you're yelling." It was then I started to remember that no one ever seemed to be all that amused by my loud cell phone conversations on the Metro. I never saw anyone stifling a laugh or leaning in to hear more. Instead, when I thought about it, I think I actually recalled people glaring at me.
When Zach and I finally broke down about the cell phones, we had a talk about the whens, wheres, and whys of how we'd handle our cell phones. "No just calling to see where the other person is, like it's a big game of Marco Polo," Zach said. "At least not after the first week," I said. "And no using the cell phone when you're next to a non-cell phone." "Right." "And we must use our powers of wireless communication for good, never evil." "Agreed."
I don't know how we're going to do with these phones. They've come a long way, and include things like cameras and music and those loathsome ring tones. We may have waited too long to jump on the technological bandwagon; we have no idea how to use most of those things. "Why would I want a phone that can take a picture, but gets no reception in the Metro?" Zach asked. "I mean, how about you make the phone work well before you dress it up in fancy pants." The phones we have also have the option to make the ringing for the other person sound different. Like, sound clips might play, or our favorite Top 40 song. My mom has a hard enough time with voicemail to begin with; that just seems needlessly cruel.
If all goes as planned, we'll be spending $71 a month on phones we're too self-conscious and afraid to use.
Bring on the future.
I'm even more sensitive to cell phone abuse since Zach and I have totally swallowed our pride and our Luddite street cred by signing up for a cell phone plan. "But we can never, ever use them," Zach said. "I don't want to be one of those people."
When I first moved to Virginia, Cult Leader Josh met me at the airport with a cell phone. "You'll need this," he said. "In case we need to get in touch with you or in case you get lost. The D.C. area's a lot bigger than Oregon."
I was one of Those People with my first cell phone. I talked on it loudly. I thought, "Folks totally want to hear what I have to say because The Playwright Shawn Marie and I are the funniest people I've ever heard." It's because of my extended phone calls with Shawn Marie that I now probably have a tumor the size of Rhode Island nestled somewhere above my hippocampus.
When Zach and I first started dating, I had the cell phone. "I wish you wouldn't call me on it," he said. "I hate it. I can't hear anything you say, which is odd, because it sounds like you're yelling." It was then I started to remember that no one ever seemed to be all that amused by my loud cell phone conversations on the Metro. I never saw anyone stifling a laugh or leaning in to hear more. Instead, when I thought about it, I think I actually recalled people glaring at me.
When Zach and I finally broke down about the cell phones, we had a talk about the whens, wheres, and whys of how we'd handle our cell phones. "No just calling to see where the other person is, like it's a big game of Marco Polo," Zach said. "At least not after the first week," I said. "And no using the cell phone when you're next to a non-cell phone." "Right." "And we must use our powers of wireless communication for good, never evil." "Agreed."
I don't know how we're going to do with these phones. They've come a long way, and include things like cameras and music and those loathsome ring tones. We may have waited too long to jump on the technological bandwagon; we have no idea how to use most of those things. "Why would I want a phone that can take a picture, but gets no reception in the Metro?" Zach asked. "I mean, how about you make the phone work well before you dress it up in fancy pants." The phones we have also have the option to make the ringing for the other person sound different. Like, sound clips might play, or our favorite Top 40 song. My mom has a hard enough time with voicemail to begin with; that just seems needlessly cruel.
If all goes as planned, we'll be spending $71 a month on phones we're too self-conscious and afraid to use.
Bring on the future.
posted by Mike at 1:46 PM
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