Phoniness

     "Why don't you get rid of that piece of junk?"

     That is what one of my kids hinted a while back.  My oldest - the fashionista - replaces her phone more than some people change their underwear.  She has a device that allows you to talk, text, surf, video and go broke all at the same time.  Me?  I'm still using a flip phone, one of those cheapies that hang near the cash register at Walmart or Target.  You know your phone is crap...when they no longer put anti-theft locks on the display rods.

     I am not an early adopter of anything.  Call me slow, but I'd rather let everybody else wrestle with version 1.0, while the bugs are still being worked out.  Then, around version 4 or 5.0, when the prices are cheaper, I dive in.  This approach has worked well for me; to this day I have never lost a job or a freelance gig because of an antiquated phone.

     Still, I will admit that looking cool as Captain Kirk isn't cool at all...especially when you have a lame ring tone.

     RINNNNNNNNNNNG!

     Yes, I use the traditional, old fashioned telephone sound.  And it went off while I was in the library.

     "Yes, what'sup?" I said, trying to whisper into my dork-o-phone.

     "Oh Dad, I just wanted to ask if you were coming home soon"  my middle daughter said.

     "Sure.  I'll be home in an hour."

     "Okay.  I'm cooking dinner!  Soup and sandwiches!"

     "Thank you!" I said.  But snapping the phone shut, I thought And thanks for burning up my prepaid minute!

     I later learned that she had cooked a magnificent feast of grilled cheese sandwiches.   The browned and buttery triangles were picture perfect, crispy and still warm under a transparent cover.  As for the soup, it was literally a can of Progresso New England style clam chowder.  Unopened.  I warmed some leftover vegetables to complete the color scheme.

     More calls came in, from people needing my freelance help to friends asking if I had an extra hard drive or some other techno-garbage from my collection.  But now my phone was on vibrate; voice mail would pick them up.   There would be other opportunities to make money or to play junk man.  There would be other chances to feed my addiction to pseudo-urgency.

     But there would never be another opportunity to enjoy that mismatched meal prepared with love, to which I had been summoned by the prepaid annoyance, which I temporarily ignored.

     Always B Positive!