Can You Hear Me Now?

by Lisa Whalen

I'm a freak of nature. I am a professional, a homeowner, a friend or relative to many, and I have managed to make it to the ripe old age of 29 without owning a cell phone. How, you are probably asking yourself, does she consult with friends and family before making important decisions at the grocery store, like romaine or iceberg? How does she stay in touch with those who live less than five miles away or whom she sees only a few times a week? How can she possibly operate a motor vehicle without something to take her mind off of the monotony of flying through the Lowry Tunnel at 70 mph? Frankly, I just don't know. After all, refusing to own a cell phone is almost as un-American as burning the flag.

In addition to keeping us in touch with one another in this increasingly remote, underdeveloped, and sparsely-populated country, cell phones provide us with choices. Americans don't have a lot of options when making purchases and don't have many opportunities to express their individuality. Fortunately, cell phone companies fill the airwaves, cover the billboards, and plaster the newspapers with choices regarding anytime minutes, long-distance services, peak hours, family and friend minutes, and billing cycles. Were it not for cell phone companies' advertisements, we might have been forever denied the culture-enriching image of Catherine Zeta-Jones shaking her head in mock dismay at pay phone users or the sound of the Verizon guy asking "Can you hear me now?"

Cell phones also make life easier by enforcing a hierarchy for all of our relationships. Say you are having lunch with an acquaintance, and a co-worker calls. Clearly, an acquaintance outranks a co-worker, so you let the call go to voicemail--unless that co-worker happens to be your boss; then you answer it and tap your fingers furiously on the table to make it sound as if you are hard at work on your laptop. If, however, you are having lunch with an acquaintance and a friend calls, you must answer it because a friend trumps an acquaintance. I like spending time with cell phone owners because I always know exactly where I stand according to which and how many calls they answer during our time together.

Cell phones have many other benefits we are just beginning to understand. For example, they are slowly stamping out the 200-year-old epidemic of punctuality in America. I mean, really, who expects someone to show up at two o'clock just because he or she agreed to be there at two o'clock? Cell phones save us the inconvenience of planning in advance, sticking to commitments, and of ever having to be on time. Plus, with the press of a few buttons on a Garfield faceplate, we treat our friends and co-workers to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" ring tones before they learn that we are calling to obliterate plans, wriggle out of commitments, and arrive as late as we want.

In addition to enriching spoken communication, cell phones have made written communication far more convenient and efficient. Previously, college students had to waste precious free time planning weekend keggers over lunch or late in the evening; with the advent of text messaging, however, they can do it during class.

There is another benefit to text messaging. In this society of underweight children and dangerously thin adults, we are forced to expend too much energy communicating in complete words and sentences. Consider, for example, the difference between, "R U THRU CING HER 2NITE?" and "Are you through seeing her tonight?" The calories saved by bastardizing the language this way (approximately .0012 calories per letter) could mean the difference between wasting away and living to see another day. Text messaging also practically guarantees you a more thorough education. Not knowing the difference between "u" and "you" or "thru" and "through" because you've been text messaging since the age of four guarantees you'll take college composition more than once, resulting in a distinct advantage over peers who only take it once.

The only problem with cell phones is that sleeping, studying, recreation, and developing a moderate amount of discipline constantly interfere with them. The seriousness of this problem was brought to my attention recently in a packed theater, where the movie we were watching was clearly preventing one man from hearing his cell phone ring. The swelling music that accompanied the main character's death nearly drowned out the five rings it took this man to answer his phone, and the sobs of the dead character's widow almost prevented him from being able to hold a conversation about T-bone steaks.

Academics, too, can be a major sticking point in the battle to maintain the rights of cell phone owners. I know of one professor who answers his students' cell phones when they ring during class. After introducing himself to the caller, he politely informs him or her, "This isn't a good time. Matt's in class right now and, frankly, he's not doing so well."

All of us need to take a stand against these threats to a cell-phone-dominated life. Our role models should include the woman who answered her phone in a public bathroom stall, the people who talk into their hands-free devices while shopping at Target ("What do you think, honey: Hot Tamales or Mike and Ikes?"), and, the most valiant effort I've seen so far, the man who answered his phone and carried on a conversation during the Lord's Prayer at church on Sunday.

So, all of you cell phone owners out there, band together and . . . what? No signal? Oh, well then, forget it.

Copyright © Lisa Whalen 2004