From the very first, I have hated cell phones. Nowadays, the nearly obsolete “land line” seems like a luxury: it stays put; it is always instantly ready to make or receive phone calls; there is a predictable charge. Additionally, it comes with a support system — “operators,” ready make sense of long distance, international, and emergency calls.
My favorite phone accessory, however, is the phone book. This free resource listed names and addresses, all this in addition to phone numbers for every resident. It was invaluable for sending invitations, announcements, and Christmas cards since it could provide accurate spelling of names along with the address.
The idea that the cell phone has made us free, no longer tethered to the wall is ridiculous. What’s free about having your boss being able to contact you while you are on vacation, lying on the beach. Maybe most people are unaware of the added stress cell phones have brought into our lives, not only requiring always knowing where the thing is, and being sure it’s charged, but also the stress that it may go off at any moment, drawing embarrassment as you fight to silence it.
Of course, I own a cell phone — it is a necessity, especially while traveling. The once ubiquitous pay phone exists no more, even in airports, as it is assumed that everyone has their own phone. Recently, I went on vacation, assured that armed with my cell phone, I would be safe from getting lost — my cell phone has a GPS feature, and certainly I could always call for directions. I rented a car, and just as darkness fell, I set off for my destination, having received directions from one of the agents — this was going to be easy.
I was only three blocks away, when I discovered there was no coverage for my cell phone in this area. Without service, the GPS wouldn’t work. My route took me through the city, and out into a countryside rimmed by looming mountains. The road became a ever narrower, two laned path, marked by blind curves every 500 feet, leading me deeper into blackness. There were no houses, gas stations, or convenience stores, or even a place to pull over, plus it was getting late.
I readily admit to being terrified, and on the edge of panic. I had to turn around, I had to find my way back. Going back on the same terrifying road was my only option—I couldn’t continue the way I was going. I managed a U-turn without landing in a ditch, or plunging off a cliff.
As I returned to civilization, I recalled that friendly landmark, of all landmarks— the Golden Arches of McDonald’s. This, not my cell phone, was my salvation. I was ready to pitch the cell phone out the window, down into the abyss where it belonged.
