Keriosity

Yesterday, while I was getting a pedicure, I overheard two conversations. The first was between two women, also getting pedicures, and they were talking about Britney or Lindsay or Paris or some such trollop. (Both women had gossip magazines on their laps.) The second conversation was quieter – a woman on her cell phone talking to some person about some drama at some job. Which was the more distracting conversation? The cell phone. (Not the heated conversation about trampy starlets.) Why? Because I’m nosey and I wanted to know if “Carla” was going to get fired. I needed the closure!

Then later, when I was at the doctor’s office, I saw a sign that said “For the courtesy of others, please refrain from using your cell phone in the waiting area.” In the far corner of the waiting room was 1 guy on a cell phone talking business. The rest of the waiting room was filled with people having conversations with each other about their kids, sports, shoe shopping, and a recent bout of indigestion. I thought - why isn’t anyone telling THOSE people to shut up? It made me rethink my annoyance with public cell phone talkers. I decided that I would rather overhear half of a conversation that doesn’t interest me than listen to a bunch of inane 2-way conversations that make me wish I’d suddenly go deaf.

One of the most common pet peeves of modern times is the public cell phone call. Not public conversation in general – but a cell phone call. What is the only difference between the two? With a conversation, you get to hear both sides of the story. With a cell phone call, you don’t know what’s being said on the other end and therefore, it’s infuriating! We don’t get annoyed because “it’s rude.” It’s no ruder than a face-to-face conversation. In fact, it’s often less rude than some conversations I’ve overheard. Admit it - cell phone calls annoy us because we can’t stand to be left out. It’s about our self-esteem, not the rudeness of a cell phone talker.

It’s a scientific fact that I’m right. There have been numerous studies done on this subject and they all lead to the same conclusions. Cell phone calls are annoying to us because they are one-way conversations. We are naturally curious about what is being said on the other end of the phone. Also, we are naturally conversational – which means that when we hear a one-sided conversation, our instinct is to feel like we are being spoken to. This is why a cell phone call is more distracting than a face-to-face conversation. We subconsciously feel that we are supposed to be participating. (This is why pets sometimes pay more attention to you when you are on the phone – they think you are talking to them. Cute, huh?)

Supporting this scientific fact is a situation that one encounters every 10 minutes in Manhattan: Crazy people talking to themselves. Do we put up signs that say “For the courtesy of others, please refrain from having crazy conversations with imaginary people”? Of course not. The ACLU won’t let us. But we know that the crazy person isn’t actually talking to anyone, so we choose to ignore it rather than get violently annoyed. Sometimes we even offer them money or food. If that same crazy person happened to have a cell phone up to his ear, we would instantly glare and shush them.

I am not saying that public cell phone usage doesn’t have to follow the basic rules of etiquette. It’s rude to talk very loudly in public. It’s rude to have a conversation in the presence of friends if they aren’t included. It’s rude to have a device that emits irritating and repetitious noises in public. It’s rude to engage in disparaging talk about the strangers in your general vicinity, even if they don’t know you’re talking about them. Cell phone or no cell phone. Those are the rules of good manners in public, period. There just aren’t signs around reminding us of how to be civilized.

I will say that knowing the truth about why cell phones annoy us does not make them any less annoying. But – my sister has an ingenious way to make the best of the situation. When she hears someone on a cell phone, she silently pretends to be on the other end of the phone. I’ve tried it – it’s fun! It goes something like this:

Josh (on cell phone): Mom, it’s Josh. I got your message – what’s up?

Me (in my head): I think your father is gay.

Josh: Oh my god, is he ok?

Me: He’s fine! I’m the one who is freaking out! Janice’s son, Kurt, you know Kurt – always dressed so well?
Well Kurt saw your father at some drag queen gay bar - called “Tuck” of all things! Oh the scandal!!!

Josh: Well did you take him to the vet?

Me: Joshua! Don’t make fun! He’s gay…he doesn’t have rabies!

Josh: Can you get a second opinion?

Me: What do you want me to do? Go over to Tuck and ask the bartender if he has seen your father
wearing my dresses and flirting with men?!

Josh: Well it’s just a suggestion! Anyway, I gotta go. Rub his head for me!

Me: (too many comebacks, not enough time.)

It really is a fun way to pass the time when you are unavoidably in the same space as a cell phone talker.

In all seriousness, we do need to find a way to get a grip on this pet peeve – cell phones are not going away. Perhaps if we view cell phone talkers the same way we view crazy people we could ignore them…or contribute to society by giving them food. We could also give crazy people cell phones so at least they wouldn’t look so crazy. We could even teach them to quietly text-message their imaginary rivals. I think the ACLU would be ok with that.

Self-important businessmen looking crazy; crazy people looking smart and successful. Works for me.

To call my husband a gadget-freak is like calling Bill Gates “well-off”.

If it has buttons, makes noise, contains a hard-drive, plays music, does something you don’t need like fax while recording your favorite TV show while creating an online grocery list based on your credit card receipts, or its name starts with a small “i“, he has it. He buys so many gizmos that we have started a hand-me-down system with our friends - a few of whom have developed some sort of sixth sense and are putting dibs on items as soon as UPS drops them at our door. (I’m guessing the UPS lady is in on the action too.)

I used to really fret about this addiction of his until he fell off the deep end and I determined that there was no saving him: I should just let him be. I came to this conclusion when someone asked me if Emil had bought the new iPod nano that had just come out the previous week and I had already acquired a nano hand-me-down. It was 7 days old. (He decided he didn’t like it in black.)

I am fully appreciative of these hand-me-downs. I have only had to ask for a new device twice: when we converted from PC to Mac and the time my worn out second-hand iPod broke. But - when the Pink Razr came out this week…I really really really really really wanted it. Badly.

Thank you, eBay! (and Emil!)

I received my Pink Razr before anyone who isn’t friends with Paris Hilton could even get their hands on it. It’s like Shocking Pink. You can see it glowing through the zipper of my purse. I’m a little suspicious that it might be a terrorist attempt to give girly girls radiation poisoning - but in the off chance that it’s not, I look totally cute talking on it!

So I went to the nail salon today for my bi-weekly acrylic fill. Because that’s what women in Orange County do. Acrylic nails that permanently look like French manicures (”forever French”) are to Orange County women what dark clothes and overcaffeination are to New York women. It’s part of the Branding.

There I was, getting my nails grinded down with the dremel, which is another sign that we let men off too easy in the grooming department. Forget waxing and tweezing and micro-dermabrasion - women let strangers (who don’ speak English well enough to understand “that hurts”) take power-tools to our fingertips. We actually do this. Men don’t brush their hair.

Ok - back to my story. I was getting power-sanded when my little pink phone started playing its jazzy little ringtone. I could tell that my nail girl, Kim, who never remembers my name, was making an annoyed face from behind her surgical mask. (They all wear masks. It makes me uneasy about the substance they are putting on my nails. But again - in the off chance that it’s non-carcinogenic, my nails look FAB!) I apologized, and retrieved my phone from my purse, but had missed the call.

Suddenly - all activity in the salon came to a stop. All rotary tools had ceased. All chitchat had been silenced. There were only the sounds of bubbling footbaths and awed gasps. I felt like C3PO in Star Wars Episode VI when the Ewoks first saw him - oh my god did I just say that for real? (We had a Star Wars marathon last week. Don’t ask.)

Finally, Kim pulled down her mask and said “Pinka Lay-za!” and the whole salon was on its feet. Everyone wanted to see it, hold it, and take pictures of it with their drab phones. People were calling other people to tell them that they were holding an actual Pink Razr in person.

My phone was like a god.

And I was like a ghetto Paris Hilton.

Kim asked, “Keli, you get it? Where?” Oh - I see! I’m “Keli” now! Not just a set of fingers that carries a wallet, huh? Well, well.

“eBay” I replied. “AAAH - EBAY! eBay! Chijidjogichimoogi eBay!” All the nail technicians started talking in Vietnamese and they all knew eBay. Of course. (and I love how spellchecker corrects the word “eBay”)

The O.C. Ladies of Leisure weren’t as outwardly enthusiastic. (They never show that much emotion. It’s the botox and boredom.) But they still wanted to see it. Some made jabs at my expense. “Oh is THIS what my TEENAGE daughter has been asking for?” If I were in New York, I SO would have flashed her and said “Uh huh and THIS is what your husband has been asking for!”- but this is Southern California and her 45-year old pair was perkier than mine. So I let it go with a “You should BOTH get one - I’m sure you look as young as her!” or are trying to in that outfit.

I left the salon feeling like the most popular girl in school. All the nail technicians know my name. The O.C. Ladies want to be me. I have the most fabulous phone ever. And yet I still feel empty, as all popular girls do, because deep down I know that they are totally using me for my phone.

Like I care. I have a Pink Raaaaazr! I have Pinka Laaaaaay-za!