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by: Jean McCamy
I have a cell phone. It’s not very smart and it lives in a dark corner of my pocketbook until I take it out to make a call. I don’t know what the number is, and since it’s never on and it doesn’t know how to take messages, there’s no real reason for anybody else to know the number either.
I realize I’m completely out of touch with the times, but I just plain don’t want to be “connected” all the time. I have a computer and an iPad and a land line with an answering machine, and that works for me.
I really don’t like to walk down the street or through a store, or stand in line or sit in a waiting room, or park next to a car with the window down, or even sit in a public toilet, for heaven’s sake, and be regaled with other people’s joys and sorrows related at top volume.
Through the years, I’ve heard a lot more about total stranger’s sex lives, bodily functions, business transactions, fashion and food tastes, depressive episodes, paranoia, and humorous (and not so humorous) escapades than anyone should ever know.
One of the few remaining pleasures to airplane travel has been getting away from the ubiquitous cell phone chatter, and now they are talking about changing that and allowing the use of phones in flight. Please, no!
If it is inevitable, I hope they at least treat it like cigarettes and banish the communicators to a special cell phone section, like the old smoking section on airplanes, where they can chatter away and only annoy each other.
Of course, I guess that won’t really work without a soundproof barrier. Sound, like smoke, will still drift all over the cabin.
—Jean McCamy is a Wake Forest artist.