I push the spade deep into the soil and carefully lift. Along with the dirt, a white skinned potato pops into view. Happy to see my summer labors rewarded, I continue digging and as I do, I think about telephones. Lately the topic’s been on my mind.
I finally moved into the modern world and bought a smart phone. To be absolutely clear on this matter, I bought a dumb smart phone. The model which now sits on my dining room table is the absolute simplest model Samsung produces.
Yes. I took the plunge, gave up my old flip phone and joined the millions of people who walk everywhere looking down at something in their left hands. I said my phone is basic, but it has more bells and whistles than I’ll ever use or understand. The first time it rang, I shrieked and, in panic nearly dropped the thing on a cement floor which would have solved the dilemma of whether I should use the 14-day delay time to buy insurance.
Several young people, including my son, coached me. “Say hello!” They prompted. “Just talk into it!” But I kept trying to flip open the dang thing, and by the time I understood what to do, the caller had hung up.
My new phone has been with me for almost two weeks, and I’m still trying to decipher all its symbols, not to mention dealing with the numerous apps. Let’s just say I’m a work in progress.
Telephone etiquette in a small town is another topic. It’s simple. Be nice. We all dislike answering wrong numbers and sometimes we get grouchy, but you have to be careful what you say. It might be someone you will see at the grocery store tomorrow.
Several weeks ago, I answered my home phone, and a familiar voice asked for a lodge located up the Trail. The lodge shares the same number as mine, but its prefix is different, and I’ve answered this wrong number many times.
“Sorry, you want to call 388.” I said. “This is 387.”
“Joan? The caller asked.
“Yes?”
“It’s Rhonda.”
It was my editor, the editor of the Cook County News-Herald, Rhonda Silence.
“Hi Rhonda. How’re you doing?” I answered. We chatted briefly.
My next wrong number story definitely demonstrates that politeness is a must. Another local lady, somewhat elderly, frequently misdials and rings my number. I can tell she’s frustrated with herself, but she doesn’t try to hide her mistake.
She always leaves a polite message, giving her name and apologizing for calling the wrong number. I haven’t heard from her lately and wonder if she’s okay. I kinda miss those sweet calls.
Soon these telephone thoughts pass and when I finish digging the row of potatoes I figure it’s time to call it a day and head for the house where my new phone waits, blinking a red malevolent light.
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