Cellphone Angst

Yesterday, I left my cellphone at home. It wasn’t a crushing blow, I just went back to living like it was 1992, hands free. I sat in the chair without a care in the world and dreamed with empty hands. For more than a few minutes, I thought about going through the day without my phone. No ringtones, no buzzing, not even on silent, no weight on me. The cellphone stays home and I am truly alone. Could I do it? Survive the elements visually, remember where my third favorite restaurant is, execute my schedule in my mind? Pull out my pencil and paper and cross off the tasks on my list. Check my watch and double check the notes for our place to rendezvous.

I remember my first cellphone. It wasn’t smart but it flipped, was diminutive and cute. I talked on it intermittently and tossed my beeper to the side. I used to forget it at home, but rarely made a special trip to retrieve it, because I didn’t need it. It was a cool luxury item, I could live and thrive without it. The house phone ruled, taunted by the slick immediacy of cellular activity until its corded anchor went unused and was removed from most homes for good.

My appointment was done and without reservation, I knew I had to go back and retrieve my phone. I don’t know anyone’s number, so the change that I had for a payphone didn’t matter, because they don’t exist anymore. Well, they do exist, but you can find Waldo and Ms. Sandiego faster, than a payphone. So, if an emergency occurred, how would anyone find me to tell me the grim news. If something unfortunate happened to me, I can’t call to tell the tale…