Smothering Grand Central Station: My love affair with hating the telephone
I resisted getting a cell phone for several years. In fact, there was a time -- while I was living the broke life in Denton -- when I had no phone, whatsoever. I had to walk down to a gas station a block from the apartment for all telecommunication. However, the very idea of the insipid chiming of a cell phone made me cringe. I found the fact that I might ever be the loud-mouthed jerk sharing intimate, but nonetheless infinitely mundane details of his life with anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in his company nauseating. Further, being incommunicado was a source of personal pride.
However, I'm sure it's clear that I eventually laid down and let the technical tide wash over me. I'm actually on my second phone.
The suprising part of the situation, though, is that having a cell phone is in so many ways a definite advantage. In fact, it is only irritating when I forget to turn it off before class -- which has only happened a handful of times.
More surprising, though, is the fact that in the last couple of years, conventional, home telephones have become intolerable to me. They assault me with their incessant, inconsequential, needle-like cries. They are subject to auto-dialers and unsolicited solicitors. They transmit the cartoonishly-slow voices of relatives calling during the late morning and early afternoon -- when, as far as they know, no one should be home.
Because I cannot abide these things, I have stopped answering the home phone, ever. I let repeated callers repeat their calls. I let people who should know better than to call "just to talk" to whomever happens to be at the house leave messages. If I decide a message deserves a response, I return calls at my leisure. None of this is necessary with my cell phone. No one -- outside of very infrequent wrong numbers, most of which are actually sources of amusement -- ever calls my cell phone to chat. It is what the phone should be: a tool for necessary communication.
It is a shame, though, that the only opportunities for self-assertion a large society presents are ultimately unsatisfying exercises in passive aggression. Hail to civilization and its howling, ill-tempered child, the bad conscience!
However, I'm sure it's clear that I eventually laid down and let the technical tide wash over me. I'm actually on my second phone.
The suprising part of the situation, though, is that having a cell phone is in so many ways a definite advantage. In fact, it is only irritating when I forget to turn it off before class -- which has only happened a handful of times.
More surprising, though, is the fact that in the last couple of years, conventional, home telephones have become intolerable to me. They assault me with their incessant, inconsequential, needle-like cries. They are subject to auto-dialers and unsolicited solicitors. They transmit the cartoonishly-slow voices of relatives calling during the late morning and early afternoon -- when, as far as they know, no one should be home.
Because I cannot abide these things, I have stopped answering the home phone, ever. I let repeated callers repeat their calls. I let people who should know better than to call "just to talk" to whomever happens to be at the house leave messages. If I decide a message deserves a response, I return calls at my leisure. None of this is necessary with my cell phone. No one -- outside of very infrequent wrong numbers, most of which are actually sources of amusement -- ever calls my cell phone to chat. It is what the phone should be: a tool for necessary communication.
It is a shame, though, that the only opportunities for self-assertion a large society presents are ultimately unsatisfying exercises in passive aggression. Hail to civilization and its howling, ill-tempered child, the bad conscience!
posted by fockler at 1:31 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home