September 13th marks a date that I have been looking forward to for a very long time.
On that date, the most recent renewal of my contract with Verizon expires and I am free to either take my business elsewhere or. . . and this is rather radical thinking, I know, but it is a thought I have been entertaining for at least the last year with some degree of seriousness – not have a cell phone.
If I were to encounter a real emergency, my cell phone would dial 911. I have neighbors that are home during the day and would, God forbid, smell smoke from my house (not entirely unlikely) or hear me scream. I know the names of my lovely neighbors and they know mine. They know what is usual activity and what is not, and would not hesitate to intervene or intrude. I’m really not worried. That’s how we Southerners are – inquisitive bordering on overbearing/nosy. It’s a lovely way to be.
Truth be told, I have been feeling that my phone, such as it, really cuts down on real communication. I don’t talk to people when I can text them, and they don’t talk to me when they can text me. I really don’t care for it. I don’t mind people dropping by my house to talk to me. What I mind is people not spelling out a word in its entirety because they are limited to 140 characters – that really burns my biscuits. I think I may cancel my phone plan and get the most basic of cell phones for emergencies only, and if people want to talk to me, they’re going to have to catch me at home to talk to me or leave me a message like it’s the 1990s. This all-access business doesn’t work for me anymore. I’m just not that kind of girl.