Now, I think cell phones are a wonderful invention, especially when you’re stuck with a broken-down car on the freeway. Some people, such as my in-laws, so much enjoy the convenience cell phones provide that they eliminated their home land lines. There’ll be no battles for phone usage for the parents of a very popular teenage girl in that house.
Of course, cell phones create nuisances. There’s the stereotypical sales exec talking client business while dining: “Hey John, glad to hear from ya. I can close this deal for you and set you up for LIFE!” His dinner partner invariably wears a pained expression that says, “let me drop into the floor,” because she knows everyone is boring their eyes into her head for allowing such juvenileness.
Then there’s the chick who argues with a boyfriend while standing in a grocery line: “You talk about getting married, yet you can’t hold a decent job, you can’t stop drinking and partying with your stupid friends…”
Why must people hold such converse in public with no regard at all who hears? Conversational politeness and personal boundaries seem to be forgotten in the 21st century.
I discovered a new cell-phone annoyance as I was eating a made-by-my-hands club sandwich during lunch break at work. A attractive, thin, early twenties young lady with strawberry-blonde hair and a fresh face recently hired as an Administrative Assistant came in and sat down at the empty table behind me. After a moment of rustling the loaf of bread and package of sliced turkey she retrieved from the company fridge, out came the cell phone. The call was to some clinic; innocuous at first, since she was determining insurance eligibility. Once accomplished, she then turned to the task of describing an ailment to a nurse taking the call. I really don’t need to hear this, I thought as I continued to munch on my second club sandwich.
Now my stomach and nerves are strong; I’ve watched PBS surgery documentaries while I eat. But I thought her conversation rude; I’m glad it didn’t include such mundane medical terms as cervix or vulva. I endured it amid some displeasure, and when I finished my meal, I simply got up, left the break area, and have rarely returned there. I find simply sitting in my work area in the shop (I’m a welder) or on a lawn chair outside provides peace and serenity from someone I privately refer to as “bodily-function chick.”
I’m just happy she’s not pregnant. The mind shudders to think of what might have been discussed, like how many times she threw up on the side of the road this morning on the way into work.