Please Hold My Calls

Cell phones - they're everywhere. They've multiplied faster than Simon Cowell's scowls on American Idol.

I recently saw an elderly man talking on a cell phone outside some stores. He ambled along with his phone in one hand and a cane in the other, nearly bumping into a young woman who was also talking on her cell phone and who, moments earlier, had nearly bumped into a teenager with, you guessed it, a cell phone at his ear.

"What are all these people TALKING ABOUT?" I asked my feller, Mark. "I don't think I could find that much to say!"

"Oh, yes you could," he contradicted. "Believe me, you could!"

"Well, maybe," I admitted. "But I prefer not to say it while I'm out and about. Walking and chewing gum at the same time is enough multi-tasking for me."

Ironically, we were headed to a cell phone store to scrutinize the latest models. A couple of years ago, Mark had dragged me - kicking, screaming and clutching my 1960s vintage house phone - to get my first cell phone. And now that I'd finally gotten the hang of that gizmo, it was time for me to start the learning process all over again.

"Let's leave well-enough alone," I implored as Mark directed me to the store. "I'm not into having the latest phone or the latest fashions or even the latest license plate, according to that angry letter I got from the DMV. In fact, I hate change."

"Then why are you always wanting to rearrange the furniture?" Mark asked with an ironic smile.

"It keeps your back limber," I explained. "Duh."

We approached a wall covered with phones and gadgets. This was the same store in which I'd bought my daughter, Emily, a cell phone a few months ago and where I'd had an emotional meltdown over the complexity of it all. I noticed a greasy, sweaty spot I'd left on the carpet, and I saw the woman who waited on us that day quickly duck into the back room.

After Mark's half-hour discussion with a sales person and after I'd soothed my nerves by chewing up an entire tin box of Altoids curiously strong peppermints, Mark asked me, "Which phone do you want?"

"I don't care. Anything is fine. The simpler the better," I coughed, intensely fanning my mouth with my hand.

Just as the sales person dug out what I suppose he considered a starter phone for low-tech bumpkins, I saw it. There on the wall - calling to me. A cell phone with TV capability.

I imagined taking Regis and Kelly, Martha Stewart, and other TV pals with me wherever I went. I'd never again miss an episode of "Boston Legal," "Grey's Anatomy," or a rerun of "Dallas."

Mark interrupted my reverie by handing me a different phone. "How about we both get this? It's buy one, get one free."

"What is this, Albertson's supermarket?" I asked, watching my dream TV phone slip away. Oh well, I probably couldn't have figured out how to work it anyway.

Back at home, we showed Emily that we now have phones just like hers. "Good luck with learning to use those!" she said with raised eyebrows and a "This oughta be good" laugh.

I've been studying the phone's manual but can't understand a word of it, even after discovering the English section.

But give me a couple years, and I'll have it all down pat.

Learn more about this author, Karen Williams.
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