I don’t like cellphones. I’ve had to carry cellular phones for various jobs and I hated every single minute I had to cart one of the damned things around. I considered them a none-to-handy slight to my sense of professionalism. I’d rather go for good planning and communication over convenience because forethought and ability do me just as well as having a cellphone handy. Color me a dinosaur, but I learned how to make plans, arrange meetings, and keep informed with your basic landline telephone while on my personal road of life. And without the mystical secrets of Tibetan Day-Planner Monks or pop-song fueled ‘learning’ montages, no less. I don’t need a digital babysitter/bulletin board to keep me on track.
And frankly, I hate the fucking things. I hate the ridiculous and annoying rings from the standard ‘beep’ to the almost murder-inducing tones of whatever Creed song that half-wit in front of me programmed into his phone because he thought it was clever. Not to mention the bastards that think that destroying Mozart, the Beatles, or Glenn Miller via ring-tone somehow makes their phone more high-brow and less annoying. A note to the theoretical you, asshole cellphone user: They didn’t include ‘vibrate’ as an option just for giggles, you shit-bag. It’s so you don’t cause the people around you to pray for your slow and painful death. And make no mistake…if after using a 10-ton laser guided shark to rid the world of shitty, angsty rap-core and emo-rock, I was given a gold-plated, Robert Downey, Jr. approved “Get out of Jail Free” card by the World Federation of Rock, I would never stop killing you.
I hate the people who think that because it’s ringing, it must be answered. It’s called voice-mail, motherfucker. Maybe you should have perused the manual a little more instead of skipping to the part that shows you how to download a Britney Spears nipple shot as your screen-saver. Unless it’s the President of the fucking Moon calling on your help to defeat the Amazonian Martian Mind Ninjas and their big-breasted laser fueled plans for stealing our precious Dolemite technology, maybe you’d better just get the message later, okay?
I hate the people who hold up lines because they can’t break away from their gab-fest to place an order, talk to the clerk, or actually participate in this world. I hate those fuckers who didn’t get enough walkie-talkie action as kids and feel that they have to make up for it now by subjecting the entire fucking room to their conversation about how that jerk Carl back at the warehouse screwed up their dry-wall order. I hate the sheer intrusiveness of them. I hate their prevalence in our culture. I hate the “oh, what if I have an emergency” excuses that somehow makes it okay to talk on in incessantly when there isn’t an emergency greater than a leather sale at the Gap. (Oh, but there will very well be one if you don’t put that fucking phone down right this instant, Princess SUV.)
I hate the people who don’t understand how fucking rude it is to shush someone for trying to take their order so they can yammer on about their last AA meeting for a few more minutes. I hate the fuckers who never learned it’s rude to ignore the person who is actually standing in front of you for a little piece of plastic hell. What the fuck is wrong with these people? I’m not sure where they got the idea that I view them as anything other than a walking wallet, so I’m certainly confused as to why they think I want to hear a one-sided oral diarrhea about the minutiae of their life while I’m trying to provide them a service they apparently want.
I went to the grossly misnamed theme park Worlds of Fun this summer. There were a couple of girls that seemed to always be in the same line as my cohorts in hilarity and theme-park debauchery, and those girls busted out their cellphone at the end of EVERY FUCKING RIDE they got off. Was the experience so mind-blowingly, nipple-explodingly amazing that you had to call someone just to make sure that it actually happened? Why not talk to the half-wits you came with, sisters?
Cellphones are an technological extension of Id, pure and simple. Why wait to tell the funny story when you can call/page/e-mail everyone you know right this instant!? These phones are devices that are used almost solely to satisfy our need to broadcast our own inane thoughts without hesitation. There’s no patience involved, no thought, no ability. You simply press some buttons and Voila! instant validation of your existence! You need never be alone with your thoughts when carrying this handy device, because you can share them with the world, no matter how insipid and retarded those thoughts may be! Why spend time contemplating your day when you can spend your entire drive home talking about nothing? Make sure your pals know how you really feel about last night’s American Idol instead of paying attention to the road while on the way to the bank! Instead of perusing the menu in front of you, call your girlfriends and boyfriends to get their input on your frappuccino choices! God knows you can’t spare a minute to make that decision yourself!
So to you, the obnoxious and social insane cellphone users, I say this: DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS, DIE! What if this ridiculously impolite and boorish behavior is caused by our increasingly advanced technology unencumbered from a conjoining sense of responsibility and forethought? Compound that with our consumer mindset and the unceasing barrage of advertising and we have an answer that strikes me as a more plausible explanation rather than a simple case of widespread giddy enthusiasm over a technology that’s over 10 years old. This gross display of rudeness and social ineptitude is not a result of “cellphone high”, but instead a symptom of our increasingly self-centered, crass, and obnoxious society. We’ve forgotten how to distinguish the difference between public and private behavior. We’re an incredibly self-absorbed culture, and if the self-referential, ‘reality’ based media flood doesn’t reflect/direct that, I don’t know what could.
With television, the internet, and every other media in existence telling you that your life is somehow important (and might soon be on TV!), why shouldn’t we use cellphones as nothing more than broadcasted emotional masturbation? For god’s sake, how will we ever be able to come across as shallow, self-absorbed asshats on TV if we don’t start practicing now? If observed behavior is any judge, most people feel that it’s more than okay to indulge in a little vocal mind-stroking whenever they feel the itch. Hell, it’s socially accepted! Only a crank would have anything negative to say about it, don’t you think?
Guess what? I’m a fucking crank. And I think that this ego-driven behavior and it’s accompanying technological enabling devices are a damned nuisance and a terrible indication of what’s to come. And since I can’t do a thing about it, I’m going to remain pissed as hell. Gah! Screw the lawyers, let’s kill the cellphone addicts first.