#317 Wired-less

I feel sorry for these people. I always see them outside, in any weather, whether inclement or otherwise—braving the cold or the wet or the stormy to service their addiction. They always seem to be about 25 feet from the buildings they’re in front of, relatively near the street, so I’m able to see the looks on their faces more. They don’t look that happy. For the most part, they stand stock still, staring off into space with an almost vacant expression, sometimes straining at the object in their hand, bringing it up to one of their facial orifices and occasionally squinting. I wonder why they put themselves through it. Why they don’t just quit and go inside, where it’s warm and dry and comfortable. Why they don’t just hang up and live.
That’s right I’m talking about the worst modern day victim since Yugo buyers. The poor coverage cellphone user. No bars. Or very few. Drop outs. Missed calls. Lack of service. Oh what a total pain in the neck it must be to own a cellphone and not be able to phone home. The philosophical question every prospective buyer should be asking every provider is: If a cellphone doesn’t ring in the forest does anyone hear it?
I first noticed the phenomenon when I was driving home one evening. Many of my neighbors appeared to be out in their driveways. It was a cold evening, and they were in their houseclothes. Houseclothes are broadly defined by the words comfy and frumpy. Here were my neighbors, obviously not dressed for company, out in their driveways, carrying on with hand gestures and walking around in figure eights and other patterns, every now and then looking up in to the sky with furious expressions on their faces, violently bending their heads this way or that. I thought my neighborhood water supply had been contaminated with mercury or something. Suddenly everyone on the street had a combination Turrette Syndrome-St. Vitus’ dance thing going on. I finally deduced they were all on the phone and in a perfect case of commercials informing reality, I remembered the “can you hear me now guy.” Nonetheless I was struck by the eerie parallel of the banished smoker and the poor coverage cellphoner. Both of them condemned to the limits of their driveways and the 25-foot perimeter of their buildings so they could indulge their habits. The cigarette guy at least has a choice. When he feels the urge to hack a butt he can look outside and go or no. But when the poor coverage cellphoner gets a call from rich Aunt Marge in Tukwila, weak signal or not she has to hoof it outside and brave the elements or that inheritance may not be so strong either. Still, if you smoke and cellphone, and your wife or boss is being a pill, well, time to hit that fake ringer tone and a built-in excuse to head outside. Can you hear me now?
America, ya gotta love it.