Carol’s Column

Hell hath no fury like those irritated by cellphones

Today we are a nation of cellphone users and I've come to the conclusion that the disadvantages outweigh the advantages by far.

Of course cellphones are useful to those in distant places (if there's a signal), indispensable in an emergency (if the network isn't overloaded), but how often is one in need? It's the way cellphones have intruded into our everyday lives that I object to.

Take the usual eating out scenario. You're invited to lunch at a pleasant restaurant. A quick glance around reveals that nobody in the vicinity seems to be carrying a gun in a shoulder holster or tucked into trouser tops. If these guys are packing pistols, they're well hidden. Relief. Immediately one can relax because it is not pleasant munching lettuce peering at a gun.

The person with whom you're lunching orders a chilled crisp white wine and you feel the stress of the morning sloughing off when from his pocket comes the sound of Für Elise (tuneful cells being the new rage).

Dammit, he's packing a cellphone. Naturally, because he's polite, he says: “Excuse me,” then talks intensely for three minutes.

Naturally, because I am polite and I don't want him to feel that I am intruding upon him, I stand up, excuse myself, walk out of the restaurant and go round the corner to have an avocado and banana on whole wheat sandwich sprinkled with groovy bean sprouts.

He probably didn't even notice my departure because he's so busy fielding the urgent call that cannot possibly wait through an hour's lunch.

On Saturday, I took my elderly little mother and her companion, Johanna, to a matinee. Like bat-eared foxes, they sat in excited expectation, their ears perked, their hearing aids on full beam, sharing popcorn and a diet Coke (both are as big as fleas and weigh under 45kg).

The film started, the hero said something and his soliloquy was disturbed by the sound of a cellphone ringing.

“What's that horrible noise?” said my mother and 53 other grannies attending the matinee with their daughters. Behind us, another cellphone rang and its owner conducted a conversation. The elderly audience peered around and shushed the speaker who ignored them.

Directly in front of us, a third cellphone tringed. “This is ridiculous,” said my mother, usually a most reserved small lady. She stood up and tapped the chatting cellphone perpetrator on his shoulder. “If you do not be keep quiet immediately I shall remove your cellphone and demolish it. What's more, I'll klap you,” she said. Beside her Johanna shouted: “Vat hom Flaffie!”

All around, grannies leapt to their feet and flexed their biceps.

“Bad manners,” exclaimed one. “Thoughtless,” snapped another.

It took five minutes to persuade the by now militant senior citizens to calm down. But the display of geriatric aggression stilled the cellphones because the rest of the film was enjoyed in blessed peace.

Then yesterday, I attended the funeral of a friend who'd died unexpectedly when he'd slipped while roller-blading.

Commented my mother standing beside me: “It's dangerous roller-blading when you're 89, your sense of balance is not what it used to be.”

The minister had just finished his prayer and eulogy when a cellphone rang. Shock. There was no doubt, the ringing came from the coffin. Could this be true?

“I buried the cellphone with him, he loved it,” admitted his widow.

“Do they have rechargers in heaven?” queried Johanna standing on my other side.

“With that instrument, he'll be going downstairs,” muttered my mother. “There they don't mind noise.”

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