A cell phone warning

Inappropriate cell phone use bugs me, sometimes. Not all the time; if your grandfather is going into surgery and your family crowding the waiting room tells you, "Relax. It's nothing. Go see a movie!" and you do, you have my blessing to leave your phone on. I'm assuming you have a twitchy leg and can't put it on vibrate. If, on the other hand, your wife went shopping and you wanted to catch "Cold Mountain" then you probably should leave the phone off even if you left the credit card with her. The damage has been done. Enjoy that hilarious Renee Zellwegger.

I'm of two minds with cell phones and cars, and which mind usually depends on my proximity to the steering wheel. If I'm behind it and lost, sometimes I'll call for directions or to let the party expecting me know I'm running late. This is strictly a courtesy as I am always running late. As a pedestrian, though, I despise drivers with cell phones, certainly if they're not talking and particularly if they're driving an SUV. Big cars plus distracted driving equals bigger nastiness for the rest of us. If the driver isn't talking, it means they are having a Conversation. I can't think of a more inappropriate time.

Yes, I can.

It happened the other day when I took a bathroom break from my job in the afternoon. I work at the University of Chicago and during the summer the campus is a ghost town punctuated by the occasional conference, cheer camp or social function. I knew immediately I was not the only person in the bathroom. One half of a heated conversation came from one of the stalls and at first I figured two guys were arguing and pooping. I was wrong. One guy was arguing and pooping on his cell phone. That bugged me.

I decided then to get my petty revenge by dropping the caller's illusion. On a cell phone, you never know where the person is, though it's generally considered rude to have a conversation in the bathroom. I made certain to flush the toilet. I might have flushed a second time (just to be sure). Then I washed my hands as loudly as I could and, unusually for me, used the blow dryer that takes ten minutes to do what a paper towel can do in ten seconds. This time, I didn't mind the wait. I luxuriated. I don't know what my cell phone talker said during those precious minutes. I can only hope neither did he.

He was still talking, loudly, when I finished. What a jerk.

I hope he comes back. Let this be a warning: I've got a lot of cell phone rage.