A few days ago I experienced the heavenly pleasure of spending some time in the close vicinity of a phone whisperer.
Sitting barely three feet away, I could not even catch three words of his conversation, and not for lack of trying.
And yes, the whisperer was a man!
Not one of this macho dude who has to trumpet his accomplishments to the world… no, a delightfully quiet man with a low, bedroom voice.
If I had not sworn allegiance to the opposite sex a long time ago, I could have easily fallen in love with this gentleman.
And I don’t use the term “gentleman” lightly, because a man speaking so considerately has to be a gentleman… or a hit man.
No need for truth serum anymore. Give an addict a cell phone and he’ll spill the beans instantly.
And don’t get me started with women… They can be as loud (if not more) than men.
And when given a phone, they instantly shatter the fairytale image that we men have of them. They are not the quiet demure little things that we thought they were; they are Cell Women, “give me no lip” Amazons.
I don’t mind people constantly pleasuring themselves with their toy, but they should have the decency to do it discreetly. If they had any breeding at all they would go the bathroom or the macadam to indulge themselves.
My mother in Paris waited a very long time to get a phone line.
When she finally got it, she became so excited that she could not help but shout whenever calling me in California.
She probably figured that she had to speak loudly to be heard from somebody residing six thousand miles away.
Fifty years later, some people still seem to think that they need to shout to be heard.
Or maybe it has to with some kind of exhibitionism… Look at me, I have a cell phone…
Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you, when in a public place refrain from using your goddamn contraption. If you absolutely must, step outside to avoid being a public nuisance and incur the well-deserved (and sometimes violent) wrath of everybody around you.
Dominus vobiscum!
Alain