Cell Phones

Cell phones, without a doubt, rank as one of society’s greatest technological wonders. This might sound strange to those who were born after 1980 as it is difficult to imagine a time without the handheld, go anywhere gadget. It will come as no surprise that those of us born before 1980 (way before) are still amazed at the blessings provided by the cell phone. Any blessing, however, can walk a thin line with its cousin, the curse.

As I followed a young couple into a local store today, I was struck by how naturally the gentleman yapped away on his cell phone while his partner walked silently by his side. When I exited the store, I saw the same couple in a car, both madly texting, seemingly unaware of the world around them. I never saw a spoken word pass between the two of them. Perhaps, they were texting each other.

Whenever I attend a venue where folks are asked to turn off their cell phones, I am curiously entertained at the behavior of many people as they leave the event. Like Pavlovian dogs, the suppressed attendees frantically grab their hand held devices and begin ringing, talking, texting, twitting and facebooking while walking toward their mode of transportation. I can’t help but wonder what all the chatter is about. What impending doom awaits those who do not stay at the beck and call of all friends, family and other entities? What am I missing?

I’m going to pull the old lady card and wax and wane a bit about the olden days. Despite some speculation, I did have a phone when I was growing up. It was a standard issue, black beast with a curly cue cord connecting the talking part to the base. The phone was positioned in the middle of all family life so conversations were public entertainment. Not only was it entertainment for the family, but it was also fair game for the neighbors. We had a party line which meant that our phone line was shared by several families. Each household had a designated ring that signaled a call for a specific family. In theory, one only picked up the phone if you heard your ring sequence (two long, one short). In reality, we learned quite quickly that it was best not to say anything over the phone that you wouldn’t share with all your neighbors. The party line concept faded away during my teen years, but we were still tethered to a base. The greatest invention for my sisters (don’t remember if my brothers cared) was an extra long cord on the phone. We were then able to stretch the cord to a distance that allowed us to sneak behind a door and have a semi-private conversation with our latest beau.

Life without a cell phone meant planning ahead and being prepared to problem solve. It was an era of  communicating your destination times in advance, keeping your car supplied with emergency gear and hoping your neighbors recognized your vehicle just in case a white knuckle snowstorm journey ended in the ditch.  Without a cell phone, my little brother needed to be able to find his way to Aunt R.’s house in town, just in case he was forgotten at church someday (sorry about that, little bro).  No cell phone demanded that teenagers scurry home before the curfew bell was ready to toll as there was little chance of being near a land line for a quick excuse.

Life without a cell phone meant talking to people, face to face. It meant that one could talk to someone without fear of being interrupted by a Star Wars ringtone. It meant that the checker in the grocery store could ask the customer if all was well rather than just watch the customer chatter into a pink metal rectangle. It meant processing context rather than icons. It meant making pictures out of clouds rather than playing with an app while waiting for your mom to pick you up.

I don’t know where the world of cell phonology will take us. I’ve experienced a world with and without. I only hope that we won’t forget that sometimes the person standing next to us needs a kind word rather than the latest news feed.