Phone Number Roots Go Deep

When I gave up my land line, I moved the number to my cell phone so I could keep it.

I've had the same phone number for over 25 years.

It's a good phone number, a constant in my life no matter how many times I've changed homes (and jobs and boyfriends and cars ...).

The fact that my number starts with area code 303 is a particular point of pride. It means I've lived in Denver longer than someone with a 720 area code. 720 was introduced a few years back when they ran out of 303 phone numbers.

So I'm not a newbie to the area, as illustrated by my vintage area code. This is important to me. I don't know why.

I think it has something to do with needing to belong someplace.

In Virginia, where I had an 804 area code in the 1980s, you had to have roots multiple generations deep to be considered a Virginian. Coming from Nebraska (erroneously referred in the Old Dominion as a "yankee" state), I never stood a chance. If I'd stayed there the rest of my life, I'd still die an outsider, no matter what my phone number was.

When I lived in New York City, also in the 1980s, my phone number started with 212, the traditional area code of Manhattan. While I didn't reside in a trendy Village apartment or a fabulous penthouse overlooking Central Park (indeed, I lived way up town in a  dormitory room with only a bed, a desk, and a rented push button touch-tone phone), anyone who called me knew I was in the most important borough and that reflected on my own importance.

It used to be that a phone number went with a place. You called a number, and you got the home or office where that phone resided, no matter who was there. Now, phones are as portable as their users. Our house doesn't have a phone. Both of us living there have our own phone which goes where we go.

These days, you can't always tell where someone lives by their area code. More and more people keep their phone numbers even when moving to another state. You could be travelling anywhere in the world and still answer your phone, so the phone number is no indication of where you are currently located.

I don't judge other people by their phone numbers. Actually, I don't know anyone's number except mine. Most everyone I call is programmed into my iPhone. I don't even need to punch a button. I can simply say, "Siri, call so and so,." With blue tooth,, I can even do this while driving. Actually, I haven't yet figured out how to use blue tooth, but I know it can be done.

I really should learn someone else's number.  I imagine myself in the emergency room, bleeding profusely. Someone asks who they should call. I give them Clyde's name and they ask for his number. Alas, though I know many details about Clyde including his middle name, I don't know his phone number. I only know mine.

I hope the hospital personnel are impressed by my area code.

Keeping Up with Communications Technology

My current cell phone was purchased in 2010 under protest. I didn't think I needed it. My previous cell phone was just fine. It allowed me to call someone and receive calls.

It was an improvement over the one before which took two hands to hold and only worked if you stood in a certain place outside, holding your elbow exactly the right way. That one was so primitive it practically required a crank to use, and was worthless in the isolated parts of Wyoming where I sometimes go.

I'm old enough to remember when having a phone in the car was something of a novelty, reserved for the very rich and possibly mobsters.

Anyway, the cell phone company refused to fix the newer phone that I liked, and insisted that I procure yet a newer model, which I did.

My new phone could make and receive calls, but also had texting which I wasn't sure I would ever use. Turned out that while certain female relatives rarely returned phone calls, they did respond to texts. A convert, I now text more than I talk.

But at three years old, my texting cell is a dinosaur in phone time. When the protective case broke a while back, I went to the special mobile device store to get a new one. The young, technically gifted employee sadly shook her head and said they didn't make that model anymore. It looks like it may be time to upgrade again.

Because of brilliant marketing and planned obsolescence, I am now probably going to have to buy one of those things that are way more than just a phone.

I don't want to surf the net. I wouldn't know what to do with an "app" if it hit me in the head. I suppose I might take a picture, but not a video. I just want to make phone calls and send texts. Yes, I work with technology every day at my job. But at home I want my computer to be my computer and my phone to be my phone. I suppose it's possible that, like texting, once I have "apps" I'll enjoy them and wonder how I ever lived without them.

I must admit I'm still impressed when I'm in the car with someone, and a question no one can answer comes up, and within seconds Google has given us the answer - in the car! Truly these aren't phones anymore. They're portable computing and communication devices.

I HATE Talking on the Phone

When the device in my pocket beeps or vibrates, I moan with dread. As I write this, I’m interrupted by a call from a worthy nonprofit wanting to pick up my cast off furniture with their truck, my alma mater suggesting that I increase my annual giving, and a pollster about the Denver mayor’s race. Those are the ones I answer. Most others go unanswered because they don’t show up on caller ID.

Thank goodness for caller ID. There are probably two people on this earth for whom I would answer any call, any time: my sister and my father. Unless I’m in an exceptional mood, the rest go to voice mail.

Thank goodness for voice mail.

Of course with voice mail, you have to return the call. I am terrible at returning calls. If you've called me and I haven't called back, I apologize. You are not alone. It's nothing personal. I'm not sure what the problem is.

I don't dislike most people. I like my friends. I just don't want to talk on the phone. I don't mind talking in person. Usually. I love email and texting. But the phone conversation is a problem.

Phones are everywhere in our lives. People use their cells out in public while standing in line or walking down the street. A man I dated once spent the entire evening on the phone. We didn't go out again.

I've heard guys talking on their phones in public restrooms. I go out of my way to flush loudly when encountering that situation.

Previous generations only used the phone for emergencies. If the phone rang in the middle of the night, you wanted to know who died. I miss those days.

If I do get roped into a conversation, I like it short and sweet. What is the plan, what needs to be done, what do you want from me, goodbye.

Chit chat? Let's save that for our "in person" time.

I don't know where my hang-up originated (hang-up - get it? har har har). Perhaps it goes back to the time I worked as a switchboard operator when I was between "career jobs."  I had to answer by the third ring, route to voice mail, take a message, juggle people on hold, and handle multiple calls at once.  I was not allowed to eat or go to the bathroom. After working the phone under such pressure perhaps I burned out.

Perhaps it goes back even further to when the homophobic aunt I didn't like called and my dad insisted that everyone in the family take a turn talking to her. He literally chased me around the house with the phone because I refused. I finally hid under a bed. True story.

I met a guy once who didn't have a phone. Talk about a lifestyle choice. He didn't want it controlling his life. And the little parasites do control our lives. What other instrument is allowed to interrupt whatever you are doing? What else demands that you drop everything and respond to its beckoning? For what else do we wake up from a nap, stop dinner, put down our work, or interrupt a face to face conversation?

I really can't explain why I have this strong anti-phone reaction while most people don’t.

It's probably some manifestation of social anxiety. Maybe I'm just contrary.

I’ve always tried to fight it and get over it, but I’m getting to an age where I think I should just accept it as an eccentricity and hope my friends understand.

If you have any ideas, give me a call. Better yet, text me.

No Such Thing as Free HBO

Holding an official looking clip board, the cable company representative told me through the screen door that they had been reviewing my account and discovered that for what I was currently paying, I could have many additional premium channels including all of those from HBO.

Not only that, I could have a Comcast land line phone with unlimited long distance to all 50 states and Puerto Rico.

I don't think I have ever called Puerto Rico.

In spite of the fact that my cell phone is adequate and I already have hundreds more channels than I could ever possibly watch, I invited him to come in and sit down so we could discuss it further.

As Charles, my 18 month old, jumped up on his lap and sniffed the clip board, we discussed my cable needs. I apologized for the cat. He said that he'd gotten the same treatment from the animals next door and didn't mind.

So evidently, this wasn't just a special visit because Comcast was interested in me. In fact, my neighbor, Terese, subscribed to the same new package that I did.

I realized much later that I should have asked, "How can I keep the same service I have now and pay less?" Oh these sales guys are slick.

As the Comcast guy made an appointment for the technician to come and install the replacement modem for my new land line phone, I thought that I might as well ask about a second DVR for the bedroom.

I rarely view TV shows "live." With the digital video recorder I can watch at my convenience and fast forward through commercials. The only problem is I have to do it in the living room. Since I've been falling asleep on the sofa a lot, it has occurred to me that it would be nice to watch The Daily Show in bed.

So for between eight and nine dollars per month, I now have a DVR in my bedroom - with HBO and Starz.

Meanwhile, I realized that if I was going to have a land line, I should probably get a telephone. Terese told me about a sale at Sears, so for $20 I bought one with a speakerphone, caller ID, and some other features I'll probably never use.

On Sunday, my new DVR, phone, and modem were piled up on the dresser with my wireless router and bedroom TV ready to use. Charles enjoyed playing with the new wires, and I looked forward to an evening in bed with The Simpsons and a few reruns of Sordid Lives.

It wasn't the relaxing utopia I was expecting. In fact, my 20 year old mattress was kind of lumpy. As a matter of fact, I suffer from considerable insomnia, and I often wake up without feeling in one of my arms. Spending more time watching TV in bed would only make it worse.

So my new $800 memory foam mattress (on sale!), arrives this Saturday. I can hardly wait to snuggle up with the cats and enjoy some recorded natural disaster documentaries from the National Geographic Channel - on my new, comfy mattress.

I guess you can't have free HBO without paying a price.