My first post is something I wrote long ago. Enjoy.A Little Too Connected?
CR
For the Feudal State: On September the 1st, This Foul Year of Our Lord, 2003
I know I should not even try to comment on this subject, because by now everyone has taken a swing at it, but this truly warrants a written thrashing. I was, as most good people of my township do, driving to the landfill, AKA “the dump” to dispose of the trash collected in my home for the week, in what has become a Saturday tradition of sorts.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far, it was a fairly nice day, well into the 80’s and humid, but never the less. I had my cans, bottles, cardboard and general refuse sectioned out in my Buick, ready to be recycled or whatever else they might do at these facilities. As I recall, I was listening to a good rock song on the radio, windows down, long hair blowing in the wind. At this point, to say I was “casually dressed” would be accurate in the same way the Hoover Dam is a “minor water obstruction”. That said, if I had been wearing socks, the next thing I saw would have knocked them off.
Stepping into the sunlight, disposing of my various cans and bottles, sorry, “Commingles”, we must use official dump terminology here, I saw the most ridiculous site in recent history – standing by the giant dumpster, disposing of trash bags, was a gentleman talking on a cell phone. The first thought entering my head at the time was simply “Well, that’s new. Never seen that before.”
However, after sidestepping a senior citizen’s 8-cylinder death mobile en route to the industrial waste dumpster and collecting my thoughts further, I thought, “What is going on in this man’s mind that he feels it necessary to do this?” I could come up with no immediate answer. What possible important event could this man be attempting to handle? Closing a mortgage deal at 2:30 on Saturday afternoon? Not likely. Talking someone through the difficult process of removing a D-cell battery from a canine’s intestinal tract, from the business end? Well, possible, sure, but really, he didn’t seem like the type of person with 911 operator skills.
So we’re left with two basic scenarios, having ruled out the unlikely.
1.) He’s plain and simple talking to himself to look important, because everyone knows that guys who multitask get further in life. This is suspect thinking, but then again the subject we’re referencing just might fit into that category.
2.) He’s just wasting time talking to friends or a family member. Nobody misses you that much, trust me. I’d like to think that a grown man could leave his house for 30 minutes to get rid of the garbage without needing to “check in” with “home base.” People, get over yourselves.
Even worse, Mr. Important dared to give me a hard glance when I was carrying my trash to the bin, as if to say I didn’t fit into this occasion, or perhaps was not dressed for it. The social mores of “the dump” are pretty loose from what I have gathered, so I’d rather not believe he actually thought I was underdressed. Maybe I just wasn’t connected enough for his liking, but when I’m hauling GARBAGE to a LANDFILL, I understand the very simple concept that it’s ok to be “off the grid”. If I had been so inclined, and had he not escaped into the refuge that was his silver late 90’s Rav-4, I could have said “Take a chance, champ. Fly home ‘under the radar’. Everyone’s trying it. Just turn the phone off just this once. Please?”
However, I’m not Dennis Leary, nor do I wish to be associated with the headline “
Local Residents Involved in Dump Skirmish” so I will forever hold my peace as far as that particular gentleman was concerned, but that doesn’t stop me from firing back in this forum. Trust me, I have no shortage of targets to fire upon when it comes to the mobile wonders we all seem to carry these days.
First things first, I must pull a MacGyver and defuse a bomb with little else than my wits and a random object, perhaps a computer keyboard. I own a cell phone. For a while, everyone in my immediate family owned a cell phone. Many of my friends own cell phones and hell, some even use them in the ways I will soon mock, but what are friends for if you can’t occasionally blow off some steam and throw some abuse their way?
That having been said, I cannot positively identify any real misuse of my cell phone on my part. Fancy add-ons are something to attack in an article in it of itself, including those RIDICULOUS glowing antennae, but I digress. I don’t know how many minutes a month I have. I don’t know how much free long distance I have a month, I don’t know what areas my cell phone will work in, and I damn sure couldn’t explain the term ‘roaming’ if you had an Uzi to my head. (Side note: Could anyone? This includes phone salesmen who offer complicated Microsoft style explanations – wordy and vague, and in the end telling you nothing.)
In all seriousness, I know very little about my phone, other than it was cheap, and that it has no real features to speak of. However, I can turn it on, and get a reasonably clear call through most of the time. Yes, all my phone does is let me talk to someone else. What an utter disappointment.
Now, having admitted to my ownership and use of a cell phone, it’s time to start picking on those that simply don’t get it. We’ve all had the pleasure of seeing them out in the world. Here are some of my favourites:
The Stadium Guy
Stadium Guy is fun. Actually, Stadium People might be more appropriate, seeing as it cuts a fairly even cross section between men and women. Stadium Guy is usually seated 5-10 rows in front of you at a concert or sporting event or whatever else might happen in a stadium. If anyone has seen this at a symphony or opera, please inform me. Stadium Guy will usually be wearing the team jersey with # 00 on it, and some nickname nobody ever calls him on the nameplate. Something earthy like “Cheesemeister” or “Sexx Dawg” is a popular selection. This variety may also alternate to the out of date Wal-Mart replica jersey, always a size too small, and always a player that has not played for the team since the leap year before last.
Failing that, Stadium Guy will be far too high class for any of that tomfoolery. This evolved genus usually sports an Abercrombie t-shirt, definitely not team colour, and khaki pants that unzip to make shorts. He may have an orange hat with the “Old Navy Kayaking Team – 1976” logo on it. Distressed! It must always be the distressed hat, you know, the one that the Chilean orphans are made to stomp on a few times before it is flown to the mall.
Having established the two varieties, and there are female equivalents of both, we take an in-depth look at the behaviour. Stadium Guy will at random intervals, and no less than 4 times, stand up with their cell phone and start waving to “Phoebe” – who they’ve been talking to since they sat down – and try and signal to them. Well, I cannot enjoy a sporting event if I don’t know where Phoebe is. I don’t know about you, perhaps you come from tougher stock, but I simply MUST know where all of my friends are. Standing up during a double steal to do some weak “Angels in the Outfield” wave to someone COMPLETELY across the stadium is not going to be visible. Start a fire with your paper cup and use the blanket you’ve brought in to do a smoke signal. Then maybe you’d have a legitimate shot of being noticed, as opposed to, I don’t know, annoying the hell out of me.
The Movie PhoneMovie Phone people are the next rung up the annoyance ladder. During the previews, reviews, interviews, general news, church pews, etc. their phones are silent. Honestly, I could care less if you’ve got to rap with Tina during the previews. However, my level of concern increases rapidly when the house lights go down and the LCD screens light up. Everyone in your theatre suddenly gets a phone call as soon as the movie starts. This is annoying on so many levels, because it’s my understanding that phones are supposed to be off as soon as you walk in, and none of these girls in stretch jeans looks like they’ll be needed to perform some complex surgery, so why the need for constant contact?
The Conservative Concert GuyThis is a short barb in my collection of phone faux pas, but it’s one that really aggravates me. The classic standby of waving your lighter in the air during the good mellow song is slowly being replaced, folks. I was at a concert (Dave Matthews) in North Carolina in March and looking down at the lower level during Crash when what to my wondering eyes did appear? That’s right, people were turning their cell phone screens on and holding them up and waving them back and forth, to simulate the light from a cigarette lighter. Now, I was feeling very good at the time (
read: not sober or 'low') So I had to look again to be sure. Sure enough, tons of blue and greenish indiglo from the lower level. Wow. Have people gone that soft? I understand not everyone has a lighter, because not everyone smokes, and even people that don’t sometimes bring a lighter, just in case, but really… Is this necessary? Do I even need to continue? I doubt it.
The Connected CustomerWorking retail is tuition less education, that’s for sure. I understand the concept of “different strokes for different folks” but even this one is a stretch. There are two kinds of connected customers, and both are annoying. The first is usually someone in their 20’s or early 30’s, if not a teenager. They come to the counter deeply engrossed in conversation with someone and try to conduct business with you through a series of points and nods, and occasional “Hold ups” to the person on their phone as they take a moment out of their precious time to address you personally.
My response to these people would be rather straight forward, if I could get a word in edgewise. I don’t know Morse code, so don’t tap on my counter, secondly, this is not “The Sting”, nor are you a third base coach, so please stop pointing and trying to make gestures that explain what you want. I can’t really make it any simpler than that. The one upside to this was one situation where this uppity guy walked away without his change, and you had better believe it didn’t stay in the register. Moron tax, my tip; tomato, to-mato.
The second variety of the connected customer is someone who doesn’t know what’s going on, and they readily admit it. Twelve times. These people specialize in the real time walkie-talkie cell phones, so you can hear the scratchy transmission from someone at home who knows what they want, but they just couldn’t handle the real world today, so they’ll work the radio from a secure location. Usually, these people standing at the counter can’t even work their own Goddamn phones properly, so they hand you the phone and say, “Ok, push that orange button to talk and then let it go and when it beeps three times you just start talking and then she’ll answer…”
You do as the man (not to pick on genders, but it IS usually some hapless guy) says and wind up cutting off the woman mid sentence and she has to start all over again. 15 minutes later the man has his Tylenol and off he goes, probably to hand the radio duties to someone in the deli, as his wife barks out which type bread she needs.
Quite simply, cell phones are out of control, and I will firmly take my stand now and say I am sick and tired of seeing them in these types of situations. Maybe if we all just realize exactly how not important everyday things are, or how much we don’t need THIS much contact with one another, and that a little time alone is good for your sanity, or whatever’s left in a lot of people’s – including my own – case. On that note, I'm powering off. If you need to reach me, well, too bad.
