Carol’s Column

For better or worse? That's the (cellphone) question

The town of Brooklyn in the state of Ohio in United States has just banned people from talking on cellphones while they are driving. It isn't clear whether or not cellphones attached to car kits are also banned. If so, that seems ridiculous. Then tapes and radios must be banned and passengers must refrain from speaking lest they distract the driver.

Next to Gorbachev, the cellphone has changed the face of the 20th century. A brilliant, progressive invention, but there is a time and place for everything.

Recently, Heidi von Pletzellochenhausen of Bremen, Germany, successfully sued her husband for divorce on the grounds of his compulsive cellphone usage. A commodity trader, Norbert von Pletzellochenhausen refused to be parted from his cell. The crunch came one evening, when, during intimate marital relations, Norbert's cellphone trilled. As Heidi tearfully stated in her evidence: “Between the commencement of the sexual act and its completion he had traded a quarter of a container of molybdenum oxide.”

The judge agreed with Heidi that the use of a cellphone during that time was inappropriate. However, when used correctly, the nifty little instrument can be indispensable. A few weeks ago I found myself in a restaurant in which, as we entered, the kipper-faced maître d'hôtel looked disapprovingly at a member of our party wearing trainers. The casual sartorial state of his feet obviously did not meet with management's approval. Logically, the make of his shoes and his ability to eat and then pay the bill should be unconnected, besides which, this was not a particularly smart eating establishment with a dress code.

With bad grace we were shown to the table and served by a disdainful waiter. His name was Roderick. We ordered and, as often happens in such pretentious places, the service was poor. David, our takkie-clad friend withdrew his cellphone (he happened to be a doctor on call), phoned the restaurant and asked to speak to Roderick.

The reception desk was within spitting distance and we watched the maître d'hôtel answer. “Can I please speak to Roderick?” requested David.

“Roderick is extremely busy and cannot speak,” replied the tight-lipped maître d'hôtel. Roderick leant against a mock Grecian column scratching himself.

“But it's really urgent,” insisted David.

With bad grace, the maître d'hôtel offered to take a message which, when there was a suitable break in Roderick's hectic schedule, he said he'd relay.

Upon which David asked the maître d'hôtel to tell Roderick stop scratching his armpit and move his buttocks and accompanying torso to the kitchen to fetch Table 7's order, otherwise the occupants of that table would leave. Within minutes, our dinner appeared.

The other evening I went to the cinema and during the interval, visited the cloakroom, which, like most women's restrooms, is pitifully inadequate. There was a long queue but it didn't matter, for from within a cubicle a voice carried.

“What do you mean you want to be a woman? We've been married for eight years and you're a man. No, of course I didn't notice you'd been wearing my clothes. What? You're at the airport en route to Cuba?”

Eighteen women standing in line listened, mesmerised by the unfolding drama within. Eventually, the occupant emerged, her cellphone tucked in her hand.

“Let him go,” said one sympathetic sister. “Get a new wardrobe,” said another and the unhappy woman was comforted by the entire restroom of strangers.

Soon, perhaps there will be a cellphone so small that it unobtrusively clips to clothing, with a microphone and speaker so large that one can talk into it effortlessly. An ideal measure in a high-risk situation.

On reflection, car kit cellphone usage in this country should not be banned. What is necessary is judicious usage. To call or not to call? That is the question.

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