Want to hear about my day, my business, my IRS issues, my concert issues, my job issues, my women issues, my men issues, my mother’s issues and my issue with issues—all in the comfort of your living room and over the volume of your television?
Probably not, since you likely already have one of these people on your block. You know the person I mean. I am talking about the self-imposed important person who confuses the sidewalk for their hallway and proudly, loudly and even passionately will walk up and down the street talking on their cell phones in a voice so loud that one wonders why they need a phone at all to be heard. Certainly we are not having an issue with hearing their issues being blasted though the front door, curling over the TV, traveling at the speed of sound past the stereo, over the coffee table, up the couch and into our ears. This, of course, is naturally followed by the urge not to shut the front door but to remove it from its hinges and either throw it or introduce him to it with the explanation that he will find one of his own back home and that he should rediscover the back side of it pronto.
We here (or is it “hear“), on my street, certainly have one of those not so unfortunately rare species of “Sidewalkis-cell phonos-moronis” and as you already know, that gets old faster then the speed of sound, which ironically is what we are being bludgeoned with. What is it in a person’s experience that has given them the impression that the neighbors want in on that experience (Hugh Hefner excluded). I mean, I get it from your perspective. You think… um… okay you don’t think, so I guess I don’t get it.
I don’t get why you think I want to know that you are being screwed out of another huge deal that is keeping you from doing this act on a sidewalk in Beverly Hills.
I don’t get why you think that your doctor’s advice to seek a high colonic is so important to my daytime regiment. Besides, I doubt it would go up high enough to do any good anyway. MEOW!
I don’t get why you think your life and its problems is my soap opera of choice. It isn’t. I have enough soap in my own life and so do your neighbors. So why do you have to walk up and down on some 21st century version of a soap box to detail to the world what you will then likely resent them knowing and, on top of that, probably wonder why it’s any of their business? (It isn’t, they’re trying but you’re not helping, Skippy).
Now we all talk on cell phones. And, yes, I have whipped that sucker out in the grocery store aisle because only my wife knows the difference between catsup and ketchup, and I will choose wrong unless otherwise advised. And, yes, back in the day when the phone was attached to the wall, I took my portable outside to speak and even walked up and down in front of my own house. But I spoke in low tones and once more in front of my own house. After all, no one wants to know about that evening I just spent with the model from Italy who showed up wearing only… wait, that’s right—no wants to hear about it. That’s the point of this piece. Nearly blew that.
Now, cell phoning has etiquette to it like any other vocal activity and perhaps it is the fault of our generation for not teaching it to the upcoming generation. True, we didn”t grow up with cell phones but we were raised with manners and that seems lacking once one starts playing “Star Trek” communicator with their cell phone. But unlike when Captain Kirk was on the line with his ship, I don’t want to know what is being discussed by you (who has no ship).
So, if we are discussing you, then how about it? Be the first on your block to stop being the one on your block that is the person on your block that everyone avoids when they see you on the block because the idea of you and that colonic is just more than I care to keep picturing.
Lloyd E. Flyer is a freelance writer and may be contacted through “The Tolucan Times” or at firstname.lastname@example.org.