Good Call

My friends would probably say that I’ve been in need of a cell phone for quite some time. Being phoneless, I’ve always been the guy who has to leech someone else’s phone to make a call. Despite the pitfalls of this approach (annoying your friends and being called Amish, or contracting ear fungus from public pay phones), the occasional inconvenience never justified joining the cell phone crowd. I figured that having a phone would be nice, but you don’t really need one unless you’re a surgeon or a prostitute or a pizza guy—someone who needs to be available at all times. If Bin Laden can get by without a cell phone, so can I.

The turning point came a few months ago when I went skiing at Okemo. I was supposed to meet a group of friends at the mountain, but we didn’t agree on a meeting time beforehand. Being phoneless, I used an Okemo pay phone to leave a message on my friend’s voicemail. When my next credit card bill arrived, I found that my one-minute call cost $25.48. When you’re paying that much for a phone call, the conversation should begin with “What are you wearing?” not “Where are you skiing?” Okemo’s communications people are still trying to figure out why I was billed at the long-distance rate for the moon, but this whole mess could have been avoided if I’d just had a cell phone. (Not because I would have been able to use it, but because I would have discovered that there was no service and spent my $25 at the bar, which is where I found my friends anyway.)

Did this incident prompt me to finally go out and get a phone? No. But after complaining about my Okemo pay-phone mugging to anyone who would listen for several weeks, my parents got me a phone for Christmas. I think that my mother, in particular, wants me to have a phone so that if a wheel falls off my car and I crash into a river and I’m attacked by piranha while the current carries me toward a waterfall, I can use my phone to let the rescue crew know where to find my body. She’s very into the safety benefits of having a cell phone.

I’m more concerned about the behavioral issues that accompany a cell phone. I can’t really mock obnoxious cell phone users if I’m one of them myself. So will I compulsively check my voicemail in public places? Will I worry aloud about how many minutes I have left in my monthly plan? Will I set the 1812 Overture as my personalized ring? Will I get a hands-free microphone and then walk down the street talking into my hands-free microphone but also carrying my phone conspicuously in one hand just so people know I’m not talking to the voices in my head? When I get a call, will I take my phone out of my pocket, look at the caller ID, frown, and put the phone back in my pocket, thus communicating that I don’t deign to talk to just anyone? Will I answer calls on the golf course, only to say, “Could I call you right back? I’m putting for birdie.” Will I wear my phone on my belt? If it’s true that cell phones give you brain cancer, perhaps your belt isn’t the best place to keep one, either. But if you think wearing your phone on your belt looks really cool, don’t let me stop you, chief.

Behavioral qualms aside, one great thing about having a phone is that people can now reach me. That is, they can reach me assuming my phone is charged up and on my person and I’m within the service area and I hear it ring and decide to answer the call after checking the ID. So really, the chances of reaching me are nearly the same as they’d be if you just yelled my name loudly from wherever you are. But that’s a moot point, as after a month of phonership I’ve found that I get calls about as frequently as a Kentucky dentist. I’ve had two wrong numbers, both of which I answered with a pathetic eagerness.

Hey “Tom,” or should I say, “Mr. Popularity,” why don’t you tell all your stupid friends to dial the right number next time? I’ve only got 497 anytime minutes left. ∂