Cell Phone Relief

I misplaced my cell phone a few days ago. I was talking to my brother and then the next thing I knew, I couldn't find my cell phone. I'm sure that some may see this as some reference to an unconscious desire to rid myself of my brother, but actually, no. The desire is not unconscious at all.

I'm trying to understand the panic that I felt at losing this gadget of plastic and metal. I'm trying to make sense of the absolute terror I felt when I realized that I could no longer make a phone call without my roster of names, which was, of course, on the lost phone. Most of all, I can't figure out who was more lost -- it or me -- when I was not in its possession.

My first step was to notify all who knew me -- and some that did not -- that my cell phone had been misplaced. This was met with benign neglect from many (who clearly have never lost their cell phone) and with anxiety surpassing mine (by those who have). I think the next support group should be for those who because of financial insolvency or text-message challenges find themselves not able to use a cell phone.

The next step was to look and look again (and again, and again) for the thing. I f the height of insanity is doing what you've always done and expecting different results, then commit me, because I looked through the same car, the same purse, the same building 764 times. In the process, I discovered candy bars that I had hidden from myself, old coins and ancient grocery lists - but no phone.

Which encouraged me to think - -logically of course -- that the rice-grain size of most cell phones is a direct attempt from wireless companies to help us lose more of these devices -- and ourselves in the process.

After four hours of being without my phone, it became clear to me that I would not be able to last the rest of the week without it and I was beginning to worry if I could last the rest of the day. I took out a map of town, noting where all the wireless phone stores were located. This was a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves and reassure myself that when I needed to, I could get another one. Like a drunk scoping out bars, I was plotting my next binge with war-time precision.

After several calls from my friends (on my land line, asking me to please, please stop calling them looking for my phone) I decided that there was nothing else I could do - -I had to replace it. Think of the calls I was missing, the text messages from my son who was probably frantic that I hadn't called him back, not to mention the many lunch dates from my friends that I was being left out of because of the lack of communication. My world had stopped turning and I was delirous, panic-ridden with a feverish anxiety that resembled, well, my usual emotional state.

The firs store I visited was clean, calm and staffed by children who I believe were less than 14 years old. Their thumbs worked incessantly over the keyboards of cell phones, simultaneously working their keyboards at their work stations and while they did this, they made lattes with their toes. It was like watching a magic shoe with electronic gadgets.

The thing about the generation of techno-wizards that we've raised is that they cannot comprehend a life without the technology that they have all around them. Thus, they look at me -- and those in my generation -- with a certain mild displeasure. In their infantile state, they cannot fathom being old, panicky and in need of connection. As I stood there trying to explain my predicament - that all I needed was a simple phone, his eyes took on that look that some doctors get when they realize that their patient is without hope and there is nothing that can be done except speak in soothing, calm tones.

The pimply faced kid behind the counter showed me to a couple of models, spoke in some dialect that I can only describe as "digital-eze" and as I squinted at the "specs" of the models, all I could make out is that I was not getting out of there for under $175.

More, if I wanted anything with -- what did he call it? "ridiculously easy features". I've worked easier calculus problems.

I did what most people do when confronted with a body of knowledge that they know nothing about. I smiled knowingly and repeated, "ridiculously easy, you say? Where again is that portal that attaches to the thingy-ma-jig that lets the electricity - -you know---the stuff in the wall -- charge my battery?"

He sneered, politely, in that way that communicates in no uncertain terms, "you are clearly a dinosaur who has come from the past to annoy me."

I decided upon a model that could fit easily in the palm of my hand while I use it to check email, call my mother and find Greenwich Mean Time for most all of the other countries in which I will never visit. As I drew out my checkbook to pay, the droid behind the counter gasped.

"Hey, let me see that" he exclaimed coming from around the counter to my side. "Is that a REAL checkbook? With REAL paper. Isn't that quaint -- I've HEARD of these from my grandmother but never really seen one. WOW. AMAZING. RIDICULOUS."