Phones on the Range

I'll be the first one to admit that my current job is, should I say, less than prosperous. It's not that I don't like it, because it actually does have it's good times (I can't think of any, but that doesn't mean that they don't exist!), it's just that $6.50 per hour isn't exactly going to lead me into early retirement. But if it's true that riches aren't just in dollars and cents (which we all know was said by some rich guy who could afford to say such crap) and that experiences are much more valuable than greenbacks, then perhaps I have accumulated quite the wealth. And in pure Lee fashion, I'm willing to spread the wealth with all of you.

For those of you who don't know I'm currently (and ironically) employed at a cellular phone shop. I say "Ironically" because I actually HATE cellular phones, and not because of my job; I have despised them for quite some time. Granted I'd love to go into the whole "Cellular phones are the devil and we can blame them for the downfall of Western Society," and I probably will, just not today. Instead I'll be sharing a couple of experiences that I've had regarding other people's inexcusable use of said wireless devices.

And just for the record: I am not making ANY of this up!


EDWARDS MOVIE CINEMA, Boise, ID, mid 2002. I was using the restroom (number 1, just for the record) after watching an overpriced chick-flick. From one of the stalls I hear a man's voice say "Hi."
Not wanting to be rude, I answered with a "Howdy."
"What'cha doin'?" was his next question. By now I was officially starting to wonder if I was hearing voices in my head or if some dumb oaf really was trying to strike up conversation with me.
"Not much, just using the restroom." I said uneasily.
In the most agitated voice I've ever heard, I hear his next phrase: "Hold on, some guy over here thinks I'm talking to him!"
This dude was actually talking on his cellular phone while 'dropping the kids off at the pool.' (If you don't know what that phrase means, just think about it for a sec... bathroom stall... dropping... pool... ehhh.. ahhhhh, see it's funny huh?). Not only was he TALKING on his phone, but he actually made the call! I can only wonder what characteristic of the person on the other line made this guy think of calling him as he plunked down the anchor.

EDWARDS CINEMA, Boise ID, about two weeks after the last story. Same circumstances, same time of day, same urinal. Luckily this one doesn't involve an actual interactive conversation with a phantom duker, but it's still wrong none-the-less. While relieving myself again after a crapshoot of a chick flick, I hear a guy from one of the stalls leave a message for his girlfriend from his cellular phone. The monologue still haunts my dreams, it went: "Hey baby, I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm thinking about you and to say I love you. Hope you're having a great time tonight and I can't wait to see you again." Don't get me wrong, I do admire his romantic inclinations... just not while he's 'Taking the Browns to the Super Bowl.' Granted he was just dropping (sorry!) a little love note to his beloved, but I wonder how she would have felt if she had known that the circumstances of this episode of cellular love involved a public restroom, the stale smell of industrial floor cleaner, a "Slippery when wet sign,' and a throbbing forehead vein on the sweat soaked bathroom lover of her dreams.


I could go on forever, as working at a cellular phone shop affords me access to phone stories that no man should ever have to hear. But alas I'm beginning to feel the intestinal effects of a Taco Bell lunch catching up to me; hand me my phone, I need to make a few calls...



Keep rocking and rolling.