I’d Love to Take Your Call, But WHICH END OF THIS GODDAMN THING DO I TALK INTO?

I broke down and replaced my cell phone Sunday, sort of a surrogate for actual Christmas shopping.  My old one has been misbehaving for several months now.  It receives and sends calls just fine, but the display doesn’t work unless I squeeze the phone a certain way and press a button a couple times.  The worst part of that arrangement was that I couldn’t see who was calling me when the phone rang, and I found myself simply letting all my calls go to my voice mailbox during those periods when there were one or more people that I wanted to duck for various reasons, usually because I didn’t have something done that I’d promised them.  That actually turns out to be most of the time.


Turns out that my Verizon contract renewal period is up, so I get a free phone for re-upping for two more years.  I’m delighted with their service, so I had no qualms.  My choices of phones are constricted a bit because I want a tri-mode phone, capable of receiving calls in either analog or digital areas. I have clients in eastern Washington, and also tend to hie myself, either on foot or in a kayak, to areas with pretty sketchy reception.  I have one of those national plans where I have no roaming charges anywhere, even if I’m in some southeastern US haunt connected to Jimmy Sue’s Beauty School and Wireless Service.  So, that requirement cuts out a lot of the sexy phones with melodic ring tones, cameras you can use to take pictures up skirts or down blouses, and optional laser attachments to perform field appendectomies.  All I want is a solid phone with decent battery life that gets reception anywhere I happen to wake up.


Having a new phone, however, is a lot like being a new parent and bringing a baby home from the hospital.  You’re not sure what appendage to plug into which orifice to nourish it.  It makes unfamiliar sounds when it wakes up, goes to sleep, or wants some sort of response from you, and, as often as not, the button you push in response makes things worse instead of better.  And like a newborn, it surprises you with how much behavior is preprogrammed and irreversible, as opposed to lovingly instilled by you, the doting new owner.  Beyond “nature” or “nurture”, they’re preternatural.  Fortunately, the phones don’t last long enough to become teenagers.


So, if you’re trying to call me, have a little patience as I acclimate to this thing.  Except if I owe you any work.  In that case, I’m out of the office or away from my desk - leave a message at the bong.


Off to points east and south this week: Milwaukee today, Atlanta midweek, Toledo this weekend to visit Mom, back to Seattle (pant, pant) Sunday to buy the gifts and send the cards that you won’t get until New Year’s.