Kyle City Limits
by BRENDA STEWART
I got accused of being totally uncool last Saturday afternoon. Me. As you can well imagine, I was sure that there had been some simple misunderstanding. Unfortunately, the more I justified my behavior, the more “clueless” and worthy of the label I became.
The crime? I was sitting in a cool, dark movie theater between my youngest and what I figure was a Texas State student and as we watched the previews, the woman flipped open her cell phone and read a text message. I glanced over, the light from her screen reflected on my face, my eyes saying, “No big deal, just turn it off.”
Then the movie started and she popped it back open and began texting away, even though my entire head and torso, a foot away from her phone, was glowing blue in the LED light. I held my breath, looking straight ahead, giving her the benefit of the doubt that, although she realized she was being incredibly rude, this phone message must be of dire importance and she would wrap it right up. She did and we settled in for the show.
About midway through the movie, the rays of light from her screen flooded my face once again and, as she began to thumb her response to her cyber buddy, I leaned in and asked her to take it outside. She shut off the beam, we both leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the movie. Simple enough. Everybody wins.
Except me, come to find out. I took the award for the most uncool mom on the planet that afternoon. From what I came to understand, everybody talks and texts wherever they happen to be and anyone who has a problem with it should take their own uptight [self] outside. Or maybe they should just stay home if they can’t handle the world as it is.
Hmm. And Ouch. And, you are friggin kidding me. On a daily basis I clinch my teeth and try to ignore all the folks compelled to yak on their phones next to me in stores and restaurants and libraries, oblivious to the extent of their obnoxiousness and their lack of social awareness. I wait as they rudely hand-sign to tellers and cashiers and school registrars, stalling the line and forcing us all to listen to their asinine conversations.
I fantasize about someone actually following these fools home and into their living rooms and then whipping out their own cell phone and pacing around, obliviously, loudly detailing their shyster boss and Colleen’s impotent lover’s crimes and little Matthew’s snot color.
The social protocol of shared spaces is one of the more basic and I’m not sure how the lines got blurred with the advent of cell phones. From what I’ve experienced, universally, it’s as simple as: don’t inflict your noise on anyone around you, regardless if it’s an animated conversation, your music, your child screaming, your incessant teeth sucking or neurotic fingernail clicking. If you’ve just got to do it, take it outside.
Add cell phones to the mix and the same noise protocol still applies. No one should hear your phone ring but you, but if it does, silence it. If you need to answer it, walk outside. If anything you are doing glows and you’re in a space that is supposed to be dark, walk outside. How easy is that?
I’ve been in D.C., New York City and Portland, Oregon recently and, milling about on the sidewalks and stoops and lobbies, day and night, in all kinds of weather, you see folks in suits next to slacker hippies and foreigners, old ladies and teenagers, all tethered to their cells phones, conducting their business. Inside, the conversations are face-to-face, as it should be. Like it used to be.
And although Allison was saying that I just didn’t get it because I had grown up in a world before cell phones and the incessant chatter, OMGs and constant glow of LED lights (I’m now wondering if she was inferring that I might be more familiar with torch lighting and the murmur of pterodactyls) I think that this is actually an issue of common courtesy and sanity. So, go ahead, make my day. Turn the dang phone off and kick back and enjoy the movie.
