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A Cell Phone Sob Story
A cell phone stands at the front of the podium, looking visibly nervous as he begins to speak to the large audience gathered in the auditorium. He clears his throat once before speaking, “A cell phone can be a glorious thing. That is, I can be a glorious thing… if used correctly. A cell phone is meant to be used to keep in touch with others, a necessary way for humans to interact. When one abuses the privilege of owning a cell phone, however, that person should be beaten up.
“It is not easy being a cell phone. I am constantly being used by my owner, a gregarious lady in her mid-twenties who I find quite irritating and cranky. But I live to serve her (it is my duty and calling!), and so I do, much to my displeasure.
“I wouldn’t mind being an elder woman’s cell phone, or even a man’s cell phone! Men never appear to be on phones while they rush about the town. They understand the need to have conversations as quickly as possible and be done with it. Now, see, I wouldn’t mind being used infrequently, or maybe even frequently, but when my owner is constantly pushing my buttons and using me when I’m tired, nearly dead, I get sick of it.
“Now, I am a modest cell phone – no fancy gadgets or extravagant accessories, and I’m not much to look at – but you’d think I was an iPhone the way she flaunts me. I don’t like being used in public; it makes me feel conscious of my somewhat hideous appearance. But she uses me everywhere! On trains, buses, cars, even hidden in the bathroom of airplanes, she will continue to talk and talk! Other people stare and point, giggling at her loud and crude use of language, and meanwhile I simply try and hide my humble head. Sometimes I even try to turn off in the middle of conversations, in order to make her stop, but that only results in her threatening to get rid of me, a situation I would never be able to deal with. If I didn’t have an owner, where would I go? I would probably be thrown into a dump somewhere, alone, in the cold, never to be used again.
“Don’t get me wrong—I don’t hate being used. I just wish I wouldn’t be used in public, where others can listen and point and stare. It is unnerving, to be watched so closely. I really wish I wouldn’t be used so cruelly and devilishly by my horrid woman. I simply hate it.
“I wish I was a toaster oven, instead. Toaster ovens are never talked upon in public. All they do is sit there and heat French pastries. A wonderful life, I should think.”
Members of the audience begin to tear up as the cell phone’s poor body is wracked with sobs. The president of AT&T, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, stands up and escorts the cell phone off the stage and into the wings of the stage where the cell phone can better deal with his grief.
The audience, moved by this performance, stands up and begins to clap, cheer, and whistle after the cell phone’s moving presentation. Another man takes the podium and begins to speak.
“Do you want to know how you can help? Stop cell phone abuse! Do everyone around you a favor and don’t talk on your cell phones all the time – or it may be your cell phone on this stage next!”
I roll my eyes disdainfully and switch off the television.
“James? Are you still there?” I say into my cell phone. “Yeah, sorry, I was just watching the dumbest program…”