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"What's wrong with him?" my wife Rachael asked as she reached for the comfort of my hand.
All alone, the man took jittery steps down the sidewalk. His arms swept wildly through the air, and his voice swung up and down in volume.
"I'm not going to stand for that!" he yelled to no one in particular, causing Rachael to jump a little and squeeze tighter.
Moments later, the words, "that will never fly," flew from his mouth.
And then as if by final pronouncement, he screamed, "I've been at this for too long! This is total ..."
The man was by no means your typical sky-talker. He was well dressed, combed, scented and sported the paunch of someone on a generous salary. Sharing the sidewalk with him was still disturbing. Just as we were about to pull the ripcord and cross to the other side, the answer revealed itself. A slender black wire hung limply from his left ear to the cell phone on his belt. As we passed, he finally took notice and his acid tones hushed. "We'll have to discuss this later," he muttered into the invisible microphone.
I've never owned one of those invisible microphones. In fact, Rachael and I took the big leap and went with a cordless home phone only a few years ago. Still, we are intimately familiar with the phenomenon, having breathed in second-hand telecommunication for nearly a decade. Like your prototypical heavy cigarette smoker (I can tell you first hand stories about that one), your heavy cell phone user seems to be oblivious to his/her impact on the world. The smoker has no idea that he smells like an ashtray (Ah, so that's why that Associated Press interview didn't play out). Inside his or her bubble, the mobile telephoner doesn't seem to know that the rest of the world is listening.
During Christmas vacation, we had an especially special conversation blurted into our ears while waiting for a flight at DIA. From three or so business calls, we ascertained that the suit sitting across from us was named Toby.
"Hey Tom, it's Toby. Say, we're gonna have to move that tee time back a couple hours. Ciao," he muttered to Tom's voice mail.
For nearly an hour, his manicured fingers held the Nokia like a precious relic. Then Toby did the unthinkable. Temporarily putting the phone on his lap, he looked over each shoulder and then speed-dialed.
"Bad news hun The flight's been cancelled," his poker-face said. "Uh, huh uh, huh They've booked me on Frontier, but it looks like I'll be an hour and a half late. My batteries are almost dead, so don't bother trying to get in touch Love ya."
Another look over each shoulder and two buttons later, the phone was back at his ear. "Hi babe," he says through a dirty grin. "We're all set No, she doesn't have a clue, but we've only got an hour and a half OK, same place. Oh yeah, I got something special for you. Love ya."
For the hell of it, I jumped up, gave Toby a start and made my way to the bathroom. Sadly, the phenomenon seemed to be chasing me. Another conversation sounded from a pair of cowboy boots seated behind a bathroom stall door.
"OK, we'll need about a thousand board feet of the pressure treated, and we need to see if we can get the trusses a couple weeks earlier Can you hold on a second?"
The toilet flushed, a few sheets of paper were unfurled and the conversation resumed, "Are you still there?" Rather than waiting for the second wipe, I decided to hold it for a little while and try my chances with Toby again.
Since that time, I've been thrust in the middle of everything from grocery store conversations about what's for dinner to the break-ups of long-time relationships. Throughout, my user friends have tried to suck me into the inner circle.
"Just wait until your daughter gets older," a close friend regularly tells me. "You'll be joining us."
The threat was pretty persuasive, that is until my daughter Skyler and I happened upon three elementary school girls on a trip to the playground. Seated in a tight circle, the three easily skirted the temptations of the swings, slides or monkey bars. Their attention was elsewhere. All three clutched what looked like pink and purple "My Little Pony" phones, and all three were engaged in conversations with other friends. Most frightening of all was the fact that Skyler couldn't take her eyes off the phones or the virtual recess.
So who knows? Maybe we will be joining up in a few years. After all, I've tried taking on My Little Pony, challenged the Care Bears to a duel and engaged in an ultimate grudge match against Strawberry Shortcake. The only thing I've learned is that I'm powerless against their strength.
But for the time being, I don't have any friends in the lumber business, have no worries about getting transferred to Frontier and have enough trouble rambling on to myself without a wire hanging out of my ear.
For at least a few years, I'll still be that guy lurking around the sides of convenience stores, two quarters in hand and desperate to find a greasy black headset connected by a metal coil to a box on the wall.
- Will Sands
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