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Thursday, December 07, 2006
651 - Cell phone hell
Leaving Minnesota for Wyoming, a Buffalo woman decided to make a stop at a rest area. She went in the restroom. The first stall was taken so she went in the second stall. She had just sat down when she heard a voice from the next stall: "Hi there, how is it going?"
She recalls: I am not the type to strike conversations with strangers in restrooms. I didn`t know what to say so finally I say: "Not bad." Then the voice says: "So, what are you doing?"
This made our Buffalo gal feel a bit weird, but she answers: "Well, I`m going back to Wyoming." Then she heard the person say all flustered: "Look I`ll call you back, every time I ask you a question this idiot in the next stall keeps answering me."
In a place as sparsely populated as Wyoming, there is arguably not a more valuable personal tool than our cell phones. Seems we can’t live with them or without them.
Let me share two stories about cell phones that occurred to me:
Fender bender - Wham! My head ached from being slammed into the headrest on my drivers seat.
I had stopped for a red light on Dell Range in Cheyenne and someone had plowed into the back of my car. Looking back, the driver of the of the other car was obviously upset. She was gesturing to me – are you injured?
Then the light changed to green and I motioned for her to follow me and we pulled into a fire station driveway to assess the situation. It was surprising to see no damage to the rear of my car.
The young mother got out her car and hurried over to me. She was very upset that she had hit me. She had her cell phone in her hand more of that later.
A fireman came out from their building and asked what happened and inquired if we were okay.
My injuries were more surprise and nothing appeared permanently damaged. Just shook up a little. No, there was no reason to go to the emergency room.
The gal was super nice but asked me again to repeat. “Was I okay? Do I need medical attention?”
“I am fine, “ I repeated, realizing that I was talking into her cell phone, rather than to her. She quickly pulled the phone back but kept quizzing me about my health.
And it looked like the car was fine, too. We exchanged names and phone numbers, which have since been misplaced after all these months. But it is still easy to recall how she was actually videotaping my voice and image and what was being said with her cell phone.
Pretty neat, huh?
My assumption is that she called her husband right after the crash and he told her to get my answer on the phone, which she dutifully did.
Can you begrudge her that? Absolutely not. In fact, it was a pretty quick thinking. Plus she was obviously contrite about the accident and was very serious about making sure I was okay.
Losing my phone - Another cell phone story: Let’s call this story the Treo is too much.
Most folks in Wyoming who have fancy cell phones use something called a Treo, either a 600, 650 or 700 model. It is the Verizon version of what people, nationally, refer to as “blackberry” phones, which is a similar phone favored by other national companies such as Cingular or Sprint.
My daughter Shelli is quite tech-savvy and made sure I was outfitted with one of these new Treo 650s.
Not only does it have wondrous telephone functions, but I can surf the Internet and also get my emails on it. Very nice, especially, when traveling.
That phone goes everywhere with me. While golfing with my brother-in-law Roger Thomsen in Harlan, Iowa last September, I suddenly noticed the phone was gone. It was in my shirt pocket one moment and “poof,” in the next moment, it was gone, nowhere to be seen.
It will be hard for me to forget how surprised Roger was at my reaction. You would have thought I was having a nervous breakdown. The phone has become irreplaceable to me, and of couse, I had not backed up any of the data on it for months.
We spent the next 90 minutes combing that golf course, which was littered with fall leaves, trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Ultimately, we did find it but there that was an eye-opener to me about just how indispensable these darned machines had become, to me anyway
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