Have you noticed that lately there's an alarming increase in the number of people talking on cell phones in public places? A person can't venture anywhere without hearing half of a private conversation.
Mind you, it's not just conversations. People are doing all sorts of shocking things in public such as making business deals, discussing custody arrangements, gossiping and making tawdry weekend plans.
Oh, relax, it's not like I'm listening. But how can you ignore a man standing behind you at the gas station, loudly describing all the details of his office romance? Or a woman in the produce section of the grocery store, clutching a cell phone to her ear and quietly sobbing into the portobello mushrooms? This just seems wrong.
But the real reason I resent people taking up my peaceful air space with their lively, animated conversations, is that, somehow, they look more important than the rest of us. Perhaps it is the way they disregard society's rules by laughing and talking in normally quiet places. Or perhaps it's the way they inadvertently let the rest of the world know they have a life. Or perhaps it's because they can say things like "Hey, baby, I just wanted to tell you how much I love your sexy smile" in the middle of the frozen food aisle, and get away with it.
So, I decided to do something I vowed I would never do: I took my cell phone out of the glove compartment (where I keep it only for emergencies), upped my monthly service plan, and handed out my cell phone number to everyone I knew.
Soon I, too, would be vivaciously tossing my head back, making plans out loud in public, and broadcasting to the world that I am both important and mysterious.
However, I had to wait longer than I thought, since the first time the phone rang I was trying on a bathing suit in a dressing room at the local department store. By the time I had covered myself up sufficiently to answer the phone, it had stopped.
Fortunately, the second time it rang, I was in line at a crowded, upscale boutique.
I held the phone to my ear at a jaunty angle, threw my head back, and said "hello" in a sultry voice.
"Mom?" my 5-year-old son said. "Where are my soccer cleats?"
"What? I can't hear you."
"I can't find my soccer cleats!"
"Oh, why didn't you say so," I laughed loudly. "Hors d'oeuvres at eight sounds great."
"Mom?"
I quickly looked around and cupped my hand over the receiver. "They're in the upstairs bathroom on the hamper," I whispered.
"Thanks, Mom."
"See you then!" I said and hung up.
Just as I was paying for my purchases it rang again.
"Excuse me for a moment," I said to the clerk as I whipped open my phone. "Hello?"
"Can I have a Pepsi?"
"I'm sorry I can't today. I'm simply booked." I said loudly. Then I turned sideways and hissed "no" into the phone and threw it back into my purse.
I made it all the way to the parking lot before it rang again.
"What!" I snapped.
"They're not on the hamper."
"Where's your father?"
"He's busy, but he said it was OK to call you now since you have a phone."
All in all, I received 16 calls in two days, and none of them from anyone with a full set of permanent teeth. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that any fool with children would've seen this coming. And you're right. I bet that they would have seen my bill coming, too: $234.57.
Debbie Farmer can be contacted at ParadigmTSA@familydaze.com.
Saratoga, California Since 1955
