The FAA has recently announced that it is thinking about allowing cell phone use on airplanes. God help us all! I am sitting in a coffee shop, and am now listening AGAINST MY WILL to someone else’s cell phone conversation for the third time.
Pardon me while I scream.
The first phone call was a young woman trying to get her mom to sign the papers for her student loans. To help pay for school, she plans to sell her car, the interior of which has a few burn marks from cigarettes, but otherwise is in fine shape. I don’t know this person. Why must I be assaulted with this information?
Cell phone usage causes a peculiar social disorder that makes people oblivious to their surroundings and to the volume of their own voice.
The second phone call came to the first woman’s boyfriend, trying to meet another friend to do God knows what. Though, I don’t know either person, I now feel included in their plans. I hope we have a good time.
Just now a woman three tables away has hung up with her mom after discussing house cleaning and her Baptist mother’s foray back into the world of dating and how health-conscious her mom’s new potential boyfriend is. And that even though she’s 73 she only looks like 60 and walks every day.
You may accuse me of eavesdropping. I protest my innocence. I’m just trying to mind my own business. Blame the brain-wasting device called cell phone.
Mercifully, the daughter of the reputedly young-looking mother is now quiet. She had hung up on her mom in order to take another call that was coming in, and will now go to order an iced mocha for an incoming friend who, I’m told, arrives momentarily.
I am working on a sermon about Other People’s Craziness.
God makes me live what I preach.
I cannot imagine being trapped on an airplane for hours listening to some loud-talker negotiate a divorce settlement or give the update on little Joey’s trip to Disneyworld and how he met Mayor Mickey or gush over who’s cuter, Pasha or Dominic, on So You Think You Can Dance and isn’t it great that Sanjaya’s going to be on Hannah Montana.
Aaaaarrrrggggghhhh! Say it ain’t so. Please. FAA, I’m begging you. Maybe somebody can invent cell-phone-booths, a “dome of silence” that drops out of the ceiling like an oxygen mask. That’s my only hope.
If passengers are allowed to use cell phones, then I predict that the term “going airlines” will soon replace “going postal.” It’s not enough that they took away meals, and shoved your knees up your nostrils, and prohibited a bottle of water, and made you show up two hours early, and groped your belt area, and made you take off your shoes, and groped your carry on, and charged you $600 for this privilege. Now they’re going to make you listen to OPCPC (Other People’s Cell Phone Calls), a particularly odious form of OPC (Other People’s Craziness).
Can a parachute be considered “carry-on luggage?”
There are some places a cell phone just doesn’t belong. Oh no–the woman with the iced mocha just got back on the phone.
I’m outta here.