Here’s the first cell phone I ever used (top photo), way back in the late ’90s. Found it yesterday. Oddly, upon seeing this teeny techy thing, I got a little nostalgic thinking back to when I used it only for PHONE CALLS. Weird, right? That sounds so quaint now that I’m walking around with a gadget that allows me to text/record and edit mini movies/rant/respond to emails… But when someone calls me on it? I don’t hear it.
Yep, looking at this old device wistfully, I thought about simpler times, before smart phones, back when (cue flashback music): I didn’t accidentally text a male friend “I love you!” meant for my daughter; didn’t get into heated arguments with online strangers; didn’t accidentally reveal to business-related people scantily clad photos of myself; didn’t stick my phone in my pocket, causing my butt wiggle to activate a YouTube video, so that the entire market produce section heard a Louis CK raunchy rant (I looked around for far too long wondering where the rant was coming from. Duh! My pocket!). Yes, long ago I could walk my dog without getting pinged, vibrated and beeped from business contacts… which I once could escape, momentarily.
Still, I would never want to go back to pre cell phone days. I spent far too many hours, when I first moved to LA, stranded with my array of broken cars on nearly every So Cal freeway – the 101, the 405, the 170 – sweaty, dusty and crying out to nobody. Yeah, cell phones are a much better option than screaming toward the smoggy sky. Halloween of 1987, I spent six hours on the 101 freeway, on the fast lane shoulder, as cars – including quite a few police cars – sped by me. Meanwhile, my boyfriend who was expecting me home, was sick worrying. Eventually, some kind soul scooped me up and dropped me off at a pay phone.
Pay phones. Remember the ones in a booth? To think we once went into a booth, and closed the door behind us, for privacy. Today we can walk down the street yelling at people, announce to the world we had amazing sex, share exciting news to everyone at our local coffee place. Privacy is so passé… I say as I type my thoughts out into the virtual world. Yeah, I’m a whiny hypocrite. But at least when I eat dinner with you I’ll be whining as I stare at your face and not my cell phone.
