Cyto-communications

I'm possibly the last of a dying breed. I said this in the '90s when I kept eating meat as everyone around me became one with the vegetables. I still eat meat, and I don't know how the vegans/vegetarians are doing, but I'm pretty satisfied with the steak I had for dinner the other night. 8)

Now I'm a dying breed because I'm among the few, the proud, the untouchables. This doesn't mean you can't physically touch me (unless you read Rule 7), only that you can't let your fingers do the walking if I'm not at home or work. Still don't get it? Say it with me: I don't own a cell phone.

What does this mean to you? Probably very little. But to me, it means a lot. It means I can be inside my own head (nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there) if I'm on the bus. Or walking home. Or at the airport. A restaurant. In the car. At the mall. On a train. At the ball. Et cetera. Et cetera. Ad infinitum. (ooh, latin!)

Well, it could mean all those things, but often times it doesn't. Most of the time I'm too busy worrying that the driver making a left and yapping about what time he'll be home won't see me trying to cross the street. Other times I try to drown out the inane conversation Miss Loud Mouth is having as she walks down the street. Did you ever try not hearing someone's conversation? IT'S EXTREMELY DIFFICULT WHEN THAT SOMEONE IS SHOUTING! Although I did agree with Miss Mouth when she said, "You're forty-eight, it's time to take some responsibility!!"

Anyhoo. I'm not saying I can't see the need for cell phones. I do believe they have their uses. As a matter of fact, I could have used one last week. Here's what happened:

The uber boss lost a contract our vendor had signed. They looked for it everywhere and it was just gone. So blah blah blah, that evening I made the trip up to the vendor's domicile (a $13 cab ride, I charged it to the Underhills) to have her sign another that I would hand-deliver to said boss the next day. The plan was to be at her place at 6:30. I got there at 6:35 and began pressing the buzzer outside her building.

No answer.

I buzzed again, laying on it a little bit longer than the time before.

No answer.

Did I mention that the temperature was below freezing and that I don't do well standing outdoors in the cold?

I waited a few minutes and buzzed again.

I mean, I do okay until parts start to get numb...it's hard pushing buzzers if the hands inside your mittens are numb. Actually it's no cakewalk pushing buzzers with mittens in the first place.

I stepped back some to see how many lights were on in the building...it looked like at least one person was home, but it's not like I had the nerve to pull a Holly Golightly. Although that would've gotten me into the nice warm vestibule. Maybe.

As another fifteen minutes passed, the following ran through my mind:

• Maybe she's up there and just doesn't hear the buzzer?


• I wonder if her train broke down.


• If I had a cell phone, I could call her.


• It's cold and dark.


• That's some nice masonry they have going on here.


• Did I put a tape in for The O.C.?

At 6:55, I hiked two blocks down the street in search of a phone. The convenience store on the corner had one so I went in and used it.

I dialed the vendor's mobile phone (a fancier way of saying cell phone) and when she picked up immediately, I said, "Where are you??"

"I'm at (insert home address)."

"Did you just get there?"

"No, I've been here for 45 minutes."

"Are you serious? I've been buzzing you for almost half an hour." (inner dialogue: I knew it!)

"Maybe my buzzer's broken, I was doing dishes but..."

"No, I kept ringing in intervals...ok, I'm coming back."

"I'll watch for you through the window and buzz you up."

As it turned out, she couldn't buzz me up (yep, it's broken), so she came down to get me. Then I had to walk up three flights of stairs (did you know it's harder to breathe when it's cold out?) and I thought, "Well, there's my exercise for the week."

We finished up the business, I took a cab home ($14 because the cabbie didn't take the right exit. Jerk.), and I brought the contract to the office the next day and gave it to the appropriate person.

Three hours later, the original contract was found in the uber-boss's office.

Where's Scully and Mulder when you need them?