01/04/2002

Wireless Bondage

It was a simple enough gift, we thought. Little did we know how it would tilt our daughter's world.

She arrived for dinner on Monday evening, like every Monday evening, just before choir rehearsal. At her place was a gift, about the size of a Kleenex box, wrapped in Santa Claus paper.

"What's this?" she asked. "Christmas isn't until next week."

"Go ahead, open it, honey," we said. "We're giving you a special present early this year. You'll see why when you open it."

She tore part of the paper off the end, noticed a photo on the box and gasped. "Oh, no! You've ruined my life!"

Breathless explanations followed, put into words on paper to her friend Maria in the wee hours of the following morning. Here's the gist of it, straight from our daughter's pen:

***

I began opening the box and caught a glimpse of something electronic. I momentarily surmised that it was either some kind of clock or a secondhand box used to wrap something unrelated. Then I saw that keypad and I knew: it was a cell phone.

You can imagine my reaction, Maria. I gasped. I fell to the table in utter speechlessness. I did not know what to say. I couldn't even finish unwrapping it.

"You bought me a cell phone?" I asked, when I found control of my voice. "You've ruined my life!"

I laughed. I couldn't stop laughing and covering the shock on my face. I really was surprised.

"You guys have NO idea," I said, "what amount of grief I'm going to take from my friends for having this thing."

I shouldn't have been surprised really. For a few months my parents have been making small but regular comments that they want me to have a cell phone for roadside safety. I have somewhat agreed with them, but still refused to consider it seriously, because I have observed that there is NO SUCH THING as a cell phone for roadside safety alone. Oh, it might start out that way. But beginning with the very first minute, a cell phone user begins to bond with her little personal gadget.

Everywhere you look—in airports, restaurants, at the mall and on the subway—people have phones glued to their ears. Friends talk at noon about getting together after work; call each other mid-afternoon to name the meeting place; call again when they leave the office and again en route. While walking down the sidewalk, a block from their destination, they're talking to each other on the dang phone!

Another reason I shouldn't have been surprised was that, just last week, I was talking to Dad about how difficult and frustrating it is to have no way of making important personal calls from work because I have no privacy there. Sometimes email just isn't good enough. For the first time ever, I told him, I have real reasons to use a cell phone. I should have known that when I say something like that to my Dad, it's as good as signing the dotted line on a contract—as good as selling away my soul to the devil of the 21st century.

But really, I was 100% surprised when I saw that picture on the box and realized what they had gotten me into. I launched into one of my anti-cell-phone-culture rants, at which point Dad picked up the box, phone and all, marched over to the kitchen trash can and tossed it in.

Before it hit bottom, I heard myself saying, "No! Don't do that!"

The tiny seed of bonding had been planted. I had not yet seen the blasted thing, but it already had a tiny foothold on the crags of my unwilling brain. I ran over and fished it out.

"You already have your new phone number," said Mom. "And it's a good one—really easy to remember. Just charge it up overnight, and you can start using it right away."

"But... but," I stammered.

"There's a seven-day trail period, maximum 30 minutes of use," Dad said, smiling. "You can cancel the contract within those parameters without penalty."

I decided to bring it home. The blasted thing is charging on my bedroom floor. I think it knows how conflicted I feel about it.

***

P.S. Three days later we noticed a little shark on the antennae of our daughter's phone. When she makes or receives a call, the shark's red eyes light up. I think the "tiny seed of bonding" has taken root, don't you?

***

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