I lay in bed this morning fantasizing that someone might arrive with a tray of real croissants, real butter and real coffee with real cream. The bells from the Presbyterian Church around the corner were pealing out a couple of familiar hymns. It was a very relaxing morning. And then the telephone rang.
No, the phone didn't ring. The noise that my telephone makes to let me know someone wishes to speak to me bears no resemblance whatsoever to a ringing sound. Our phone sounds like a big crow has landed on a hot wire and is fighting off electrocution.
The techno revolution has not only affected the way we do everything, it has also changed the way we hear everything. For instance, there is no car manufactured today whose horn honks. Blats, perhaps, or caws, maybe an annoying high pitched beeeep. But certainly no honking.
The Cellular Phone Reformation has really put another spin on Alexander G.Bell's bell ringing invention. Some cell phones don’t even pretend to ring. Without warning men suddenly grab a pants pocket and mutter, “Sorry, my phone is ringing.” There was no phone noise, let alone a brrring-brrring but it must cause some sensation, irritating or interesting, to which this guy is responding. His phone isn't ringing; its vibrating. “Pardon me, my phone is goosing me.”
Tom says his pulsates. Now he keeps his phone in his breast pocket and frequently seizes his chest while making painful looking faces. “Are you having chest pain? I volunteer. “No. I think my phone just rang.”
Billy’s phone is so small and he has such smooth dexterity that the only way I know his phone has rung is that he starts talking to himself. Most women seem to resist the temptation to strap their cellular phones to their bodies and instead stuff them into already over-stuffed purses. This leads to a furious digging and thrashing through the bag when her sound sounds. Muffled electronic music box tunes struggle to be heard playing “The 1812 Overture” through layers of cosmetic bag, address book, wallet, eyeglass case and Kleenex packages as her car is careening across the road. This morning in church at a very appropriate moment during the sermon, someone's cellular instrument blasted out with "The Saints Go Marching In."It cracked up the congregation.
Last night as I sat on the opposite side of the room, I became mesmerized by Mandy’s pocketbook wiggling across the piano. Suddenly she raced into the room rather agitated that I hadn’t answered her phone which was throbbing to be heard from inside the bag. And I thought I was at a séance.
The scene playing out everyday where people gather together is a riot. Some little buzz or zap, brrr-brrr or bing-bing sends everyone into a spastic grasping of body parts or rifling through bags and briefcases. “Is that you?" “His?” “Hers?” ”Yours” “I think it’s mine!” “Hello? Can you speak up? I can’t hear you. Wait ‘til I walk outside. I’m not getting any reception. My bars are low. What??” It wasn't my phone, after all.
Love, Carol. Dot.Com
Grandparenting 101
The Bragging Absolution
Identity Verification
And I Have a Ton of Sippy Cups!
Flunking Dog Bath
Wrapping It Up
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