#364 Minute-ia

So I finally got a cellphone for business purposes. No really. I got tired of being pinned to the office when I could be spending my time more valuably out on the road beating the bushes. No, not those bushes, I’m not in politics. Even though I’ve criticized cellphone misusage for years I finally had to swallow the bullet—along with some healthy helpings of crow—and get one of the darn things. But I vow to not misuse it. Not for me the cellphoning from the grocery store asking my wife what kind of ice cream we like. Not for me the erratic driving while I try to juggle a latte and a cellphone call to my Aunt Shultzie. Not for me the walking down the street with a hidden headset looking like a schizophrenic on meth talking to phantoms. You have my solemn vow. ‘Scuse me, I have to take a call...
So anyhow, the other day I got my first taste of the brave new world. Now first let me say that I’m a parsimonious person. Parsimony, although it sounds like a cookie flavor, is in fact the time-honored virtue of thrift. So one of the things I actually thought I’d like about cellphones is you pay as you go. I’ve always hated that regular phones charge you a flat fee. I’m positive I’m on the phone less than, say, my neighbor’s teenager so why should I have to pay the same monthly rate? Unfortunately, cellphone metering is not so exact. You buy an assigned packet of minutes. So naturally, parsimonious fellow that I am, all right, skinflint, I picked the least. The flip side of the bundle of minutes scenario is that if you go over your minutes you get cell-boned big time. The penalty minutes are more excruciating than for a hockey team down to three skaters. It’s like the interest charges that kick in on your introductory offer bankcard if you accidentally pay a little late. From 0% to 28% in one fell swoop. So basically they’re asking you to gamble with yourself as to how many minutes you might use. Like a cellphone carny midway. Step right up and pick a packet. The other catch is the cellphone company rounds up to the next minute. Now there’s a rip. Let’s see, every phone has GPS, text and internet capability, more memory than early computers, and they can’t keep track of partial minutes. Right… Another way the man is keeping us down. But worst of all is, because you’re never sure which type of minutes you’ve used when, and how close you may be to overage overcharge, every minute means more psychologically. And when, like yesterday, you get a call from some innocent kid who happened to dial your cellphone number by mistake, you tend to bite his stupid little head off. No, Ned’s mom is not here! Pay attention to what number you’re dialing, kid. You’re wasting my minutes here. I figure I should get some satisfaction. I got, like, 30 seconds before they round up, to take it out on the poor schmuck that misdialed.
America, ya gotta love it.