Malignant cells

AUBURN, Maine - My wife and I were waiting patiently at a clinic in a hospital. We brought our books (Kindles, E-Readers and iBooks are dirty words in our house) because we are patrons of the printed word.

We believe in being quite in close quarters, and when I speak with my wife in the next seat, we whisper out of respect for patients who also sit in silence.

I was reading about the origins of the Boston Red Sox, giving me the perfect excuse to ignore a TV daytime talk show host's interview with another narcissistic celebrity. We were engrossed in our reading when this annoying voice erupted and disrupted our concentration, making me lose my place in the book.

The volume grew as this impolite person let the entire room in on her cell phone conversation, which went on for nearly 15 minutes. What about leaving the room? How about: "I can't talk now" or "I will call you back." Something short and sweet, giving the rest of us a break from your nonsense.

I am not a nosey person. We are a "please and thank you" family who respects the privacy of others. I didn't need to know her business. I thought about politely telling our babbling roomy to be quiet, reaching for a can of Mace or requesting a bucket of water to drown out the conversation and destroy the phone - sort of a two-for-one deal.

There is no escaping these annoying, self-centered cell phone users whose ranks grow each day. All you need to do to join them is to be rude and become oblivious to your fellow man.

I understand we move in a world of instant communication and cell phones can be handy in emergencies and checking on our children.

Still, I can't count the number of times when a distracted driver, with a cell phone in one hand and the wheel of a two-ton SUV in the other, nearly knocking me off the road. When I use a horn to express my dismay, these inattentive drivers certainly don't mind telling me I am No. 1 with the usual hand sign that often triggers road rage. 

I have been privy to numerous cell phone conversations in a grocery market. I learned about Uncle George doing a 5-to-10 stint at Folsom State Prison for knocking over a bank while I tossed coffee into my carriage. I witnessed customers talking on the phone as they slowly reach for their wallet to pay the bill at the register. I watch in horror as a driver texts at 60 miles per hour with a car full of children. I can't believe people have a phone to their ear at the beach, on a hike or walking down the street.

Shut the damn thing off, will you please!

I don't know how to text and I don't want to learn because I hate looking down on the world. I welcome face-to-face conversations with my next-door neighbors. I was raised on a street where 17 of my relatives lived. Hot nights were spent on porches discussing the Vietnam war or the weather.

And I don't want a phone call in the car when Eric Clapton's "I feel free" is playing on the radio.

I snicker when people confess that they couldn't survive without a cell phone. We went without a mobile phone for four years and somehow we made it through the rain and kept our point of view.

Last summer, I went overboard and purchased a $10 TracPhone and spent another $20 for 60 minutes, which lasted four months.

The extent of my conversations usually goes like this:

"Hello?' I answer.

"Hi Tony, we need milk," said my wife.

"OK, I will pick up a gallon on the way home. Love ya, bye," I say.

I am off the phone in less than a minute. Besides, what could I possibly add to that conversation.

And I didn't annoy a soul during that brief call.