Why Is This Called The Communication Age?
For the record, I have always been a crotchety old man. I do not embrace change when that change involves a further decline in civility and replaces convenience with stupid.
Cell phones are the most obvious example of this to me. Remember pay phones? Anyone? Yes, it was a pain in the ass to find change for a pay phone. Yes, that pay phone was probably encased in some mystery crust that may or may not have sustained a colony of vicious bacteria. Yes, it was usually not very well lit and used primarily in dangerous neighborhoods. Drug dealers, pimps, and other unsavory types hovered around them menacingly. They didn’t always work, but at least they were sequestered to their own area. Sometimes they even had doors. You didn’t have to listen to the unwanted and embarrassing conversations of strangers no matter where you found yourself.
I don’t want to be at a urinal in any establishment and hear a one-sided conversation emanating from the stall about how that infection finally went away in between grunts and plops. Similarly, I don’t want any choad treating the proximity of the urinals like a social club and assuming I’m his new best friend. You don’t see me breaking the social contract and turning into you as I still have a stream flowing, micturating all over your acid-wash jeans and your lime-green crocs. Just shut up, look forward, and pee. The only sound I should hear out of you is the involuntary sigh of relief. But this is what the immediate gratification of cell phones has exacerbated. Dudes talking to me while I piss.
Cell phones also make it possible to hear bad hip-hop ring tones interrupting your nice quiet meal out. If we still had pay phones, you sure wouldn’t have to worry about one more thing taking the attention away from the person driving a one-ton vehicle in the lane next to you. You also wouldn’t have to be engaged in an actual face-to-face conversation before their phone rings and they give you the sorry face while they hold up the ‘I have to take this call’ index finger and drop the thread of your interaction like warm, fresh poop.
Cell phones, rather than making our lives easier, have turned us all into self-absorbed douche bags who would rather carry on with a detached voice somewhere else than pay attention to our actual surroundings and the people in our field of view. I no longer think twice about walking up to a person having a loud conversation in a public place, like a grocery store, and mocking them.
“When he didn’t call for three days, I was like, that is just rude. And when he finally did call back, I was like, that’s just rude. And he’s all, ‘why’?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have slept with him on the first date, you slutbag.”
“Hold on,” she says into the phone and then looks at me. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry; I thought you were speaking to me. Next time maybe you should take the call in private.”
And then she acts like she’s the injured party. Unbelievable.
This works better with the people who have the earpieces from the future that make them look like Lando’s assistant on Bespin. The ones who look like they’re having an insane invisible conversation with Harvey the giant rabbit, but are actually just more comfortable talking into a futuristic, plasticky piece of jewelry. I hate these people. I try to have fake conversations with them based on what they are replying to the starship Enterprise.
“…Bro, should I get the twelve pack or the full case for this fiesta?”
“Well that depends on how many times you want to attempt date rape, you asshole,” I say loudly.
“Hold on a sec, dude,” before he turns to me at the beer case. “What did you say, bro?”
That’s when I cup my hand to my ear and give the sorry face and hold up my index finger erratically. “Look, Mom, I don’t care,” I say into my own hand. “It just isn’t legal.” And then I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue a little like I am being hung in a noose before I walk away.
Places I don’t ever want to see casual cell phone use: in line to check-out at any business establishment; the sales floor of any business establishment; any public toilet; movie theaters; live music concerts; bars (unless you are calling for a cab); restaurants; in a car while driving; National Parks; the beach; while walking down a crowded sidewalk; in front of a cop who has already been called to deal with you; or anytime you should be paying attention.
I would think this would all be self-evident, but it isn’t. We are all turning into douche bags who cling to our cell-phone umbilicals to the detriment of the greater culture. Instead of bringing us all closer together, it has segmented us even further. Sort of like High School, only run by Cingular, T-Mobile, and AT&T.
“Where you at?” they say next to me at the video store.
I walk over and scream, “SHUT UP SHUT UP HANG UP AND LEARN PROPER ENGLISH YOU FUCK!” before I punch them, a solid hook to the jaw that drops them faster than a one-ton weight onto Wile E. Coyote’s head. And people still act like I’m the asshole.
Can you hear me now? Maybe I should text you next time.
Cell phones are the most obvious example of this to me. Remember pay phones? Anyone? Yes, it was a pain in the ass to find change for a pay phone. Yes, that pay phone was probably encased in some mystery crust that may or may not have sustained a colony of vicious bacteria. Yes, it was usually not very well lit and used primarily in dangerous neighborhoods. Drug dealers, pimps, and other unsavory types hovered around them menacingly. They didn’t always work, but at least they were sequestered to their own area. Sometimes they even had doors. You didn’t have to listen to the unwanted and embarrassing conversations of strangers no matter where you found yourself.
I don’t want to be at a urinal in any establishment and hear a one-sided conversation emanating from the stall about how that infection finally went away in between grunts and plops. Similarly, I don’t want any choad treating the proximity of the urinals like a social club and assuming I’m his new best friend. You don’t see me breaking the social contract and turning into you as I still have a stream flowing, micturating all over your acid-wash jeans and your lime-green crocs. Just shut up, look forward, and pee. The only sound I should hear out of you is the involuntary sigh of relief. But this is what the immediate gratification of cell phones has exacerbated. Dudes talking to me while I piss.
Cell phones also make it possible to hear bad hip-hop ring tones interrupting your nice quiet meal out. If we still had pay phones, you sure wouldn’t have to worry about one more thing taking the attention away from the person driving a one-ton vehicle in the lane next to you. You also wouldn’t have to be engaged in an actual face-to-face conversation before their phone rings and they give you the sorry face while they hold up the ‘I have to take this call’ index finger and drop the thread of your interaction like warm, fresh poop.
Cell phones, rather than making our lives easier, have turned us all into self-absorbed douche bags who would rather carry on with a detached voice somewhere else than pay attention to our actual surroundings and the people in our field of view. I no longer think twice about walking up to a person having a loud conversation in a public place, like a grocery store, and mocking them.
“When he didn’t call for three days, I was like, that is just rude. And when he finally did call back, I was like, that’s just rude. And he’s all, ‘why’?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have slept with him on the first date, you slutbag.”
“Hold on,” she says into the phone and then looks at me. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry; I thought you were speaking to me. Next time maybe you should take the call in private.”
And then she acts like she’s the injured party. Unbelievable.
This works better with the people who have the earpieces from the future that make them look like Lando’s assistant on Bespin. The ones who look like they’re having an insane invisible conversation with Harvey the giant rabbit, but are actually just more comfortable talking into a futuristic, plasticky piece of jewelry. I hate these people. I try to have fake conversations with them based on what they are replying to the starship Enterprise.
“…Bro, should I get the twelve pack or the full case for this fiesta?”
“Well that depends on how many times you want to attempt date rape, you asshole,” I say loudly.
“Hold on a sec, dude,” before he turns to me at the beer case. “What did you say, bro?”
That’s when I cup my hand to my ear and give the sorry face and hold up my index finger erratically. “Look, Mom, I don’t care,” I say into my own hand. “It just isn’t legal.” And then I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue a little like I am being hung in a noose before I walk away.
Places I don’t ever want to see casual cell phone use: in line to check-out at any business establishment; the sales floor of any business establishment; any public toilet; movie theaters; live music concerts; bars (unless you are calling for a cab); restaurants; in a car while driving; National Parks; the beach; while walking down a crowded sidewalk; in front of a cop who has already been called to deal with you; or anytime you should be paying attention.
I would think this would all be self-evident, but it isn’t. We are all turning into douche bags who cling to our cell-phone umbilicals to the detriment of the greater culture. Instead of bringing us all closer together, it has segmented us even further. Sort of like High School, only run by Cingular, T-Mobile, and AT&T.
“Where you at?” they say next to me at the video store.
I walk over and scream, “SHUT UP SHUT UP HANG UP AND LEARN PROPER ENGLISH YOU FUCK!” before I punch them, a solid hook to the jaw that drops them faster than a one-ton weight onto Wile E. Coyote’s head. And people still act like I’m the asshole.
Can you hear me now? Maybe I should text you next time.