by Nancy Canfield

Created on: July 24, 2009

Since I realize there is nothing I can do to stem the tide of progress, I accepted my nephew's pragmatic suggestion that he order me a cell phone. I balk at phones in general, answering machines make me crazy, and I don't want people that I don't know calling me unless they are lottery officials. When the phone rings, I always think something is wrong, my heart pounds, my blood pressure spikes, and it usually occurs when I am on a sprint to the bathroom. The last thing I need is communication at the tip of my finger, but these days, I do as I am told.

The phone arrived, and that night I was given detailed instructions. When I say detailed I mean "OK, now pay attention! Turn it on... (blah blah blah). Hit this when... (blah blah blah). Here's where your contacts will be, don't worry. I'll put them in for you... (blah blah blah)." Huh? Next came my test. I sat down on the couch placing the phone next to me, and waited for the nephew to call. He went into the other room, and sure enough, the little box rang. I answered the remote. It didn't matter because I could hear him in the next room screaming, "Answer the PHONE! Put down the remote and answer the phone!"

I found that answering the phone was not all that difficult when using the appropriate equipment. The next instruction was something called chirping. It seems one can press a couple of buttons and chirp someone without dialing, which speaks to the general laziness of the younger generation. Even I don't need a rest after dialing a phone. Again, do this, this and this (blah blah blah). The nephew goes outside. By this time, I had an audience, surreptitiously giggling at my struggle to pass the test. The phone chirped, I pressed a few buttons, and as the exasperated nephew walked through the door, was informed by him that talking into the back of the phone when it was off DIDN"T WORK!

My friend isn't tech savvy either. We tried to call the nephew on the way home from shopping, and ended up leaving several incomprehensible messages, leading him to believe we were being car-jacked. That little stunt almost got my phone repossessed. I worry about a dead battery, so I never turn the cell on, which doesn't do much good for those who may want to contact me. That really upsets the nephew. I told him when the tsunami hits, and it will, I would have the only charged cell phone in existence. He did bring up a good point when he replied, "Who ya gonna call then?"

I still have the original test message he sent because I don't know how to get to them, let alone listen to them. I know they are there though, because when I turn on my phone, it tells me I have 38 messages. My grand niece was showing off, and changed my ring tone to that of a clucking chicken, without telling me, and jacked the sound up several decibels. I was strolling down an aisle in a department store, the little gray monster lying dormant in my purse, or so I thought, when screeching clucking noises began blaring. I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking it must be the store's air-raid warning system. As I was about to take cover under my carriage, my horrified niece skid around the corner, dumped my purse upside down and shut my phone off. It seemed her daughter used her cell phone to find out what aisle I was in saying, "Wait 'till you hear this, Mom!"

Times change. My grand nieces were born with a cell attached to their ears, and can make them dance. I can't see the numbers on my phone. My arthritic thumb hurts when I push those teeny buttons. Drive and talk on my cell? I can't walk and talk on it. I am going to take my old dial-up desk phone and have it mounted on my dash board. Then we'll see who begs to use my car.

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