Locked in Phone Hell


I’ve never been so attached to something I loathe. Phones are hell, especially for introverts. Maybe, I don’t want to be connected. Access to information is nice, but connected? No, thank you. When my phone rings or dings, I want to throw it. Still, every day I’m stuck in the left lane behind some swerving nimrod who can’t put away her electronic appendage for five minutes.

I have to run around with a second lump in my pants—one that’s probably cutting off my circulation or giving me ball cancer. At least women can bury them in their purses. If it were soft, carried money, and would fit into my rear pocket, maybe I’d find this human accessory practical. A watch? Don’t get me started. The iWatch is stupid looking, no matter what it can do. Really? You’re going to talk into your wrist, Maxwell Smart? Plus, Apple, how do you expect blind old fucks like me to see the thing? We’d be forced to read text messages one letter at a time.

I’ve tried all versions of the phone too, dating all the way back to pagers. Whether it’s a Crack-berry, iFuck, or Sam-dung, I can find something to hate about it in less than an hour. It’s too slow, and there’s no coverage. I’ll tell you what my Samsung Galaxy 4 is: an annoying Siamese twin. Just now, it rang (my ringtone blows just a little less than others’), it distracted me, I swiped ignore, it buzzed and beeped, distracted me again telling me there’s a voicemail from someone who knows I just ignored him but he didn’t quite get my point, and now it’s blinking a green LED, distracting me yet again.


I suppose I could shut it off or leave it home. That would simply leave me more time to be annoyed by other people on the phone …

  • sharing pictures. – Nobody wants to see what you had for dinner, with whom, where. Stop it.
  • using nav. – Why not use the rotting thing between your ears to watch where you’re going and take mental notes?
  • playing games. – Fine, if you’re on the toilet.
  • listening to music. – I’ll give you a pass for this too, especially at the gym. At least you can drown out Taylor Swift, and that sweaty asshole grunting on the weight bench.
  • posting and checking posts. – Back in the oldern days, people would have verbal conversations. When they wanted to know what was going on outside, THEY WENT OUTSIDE AND LOOKED AROUND.

I know. Where is all of this anger coming from? I’m an introvert who wants to be less connected without feeling inadequately equipped. I don’t want a text message; I want a letter—a hand-written letter, in cursive, even. I would like it on pastel paper, lightly sprayed with Coach Poppy Eau de Parfum. That’s far more exciting than block letters in a yellow bubble. No clever emoticon needed. Draw a heart, or a circle with two dots and a curved line, like my adorable server did last night. (If she drew a winky face, I would have kicked her in her shapely buttocks.)

Please, can’t we go back to simpler times? Bring back the pay phone, which, by the way, was in a booth for good reason. I’ve got my dimes ready.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.