If the Great Satan-hating scientists working for Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who, in a recent election, learned eleven seconds after the polls closed that eleven million Iranians wanted him to remain their president, could figure out how to bounce death ray beams simultaneously off all cell phone satellites, ninety-nine percent of America’s youth would be fried instantly.
Cell phones have altered America’s entire social and cultural landscape. Youngsters who can’t afford essentials, like food and clothing, somehow can afford cell phones, and use them constantly, whether driving, walking, eating, or whatever.
While text-messaging, they cradle the phones in their hands and bend over them, as if worshiping an omnipotent amulet — flitting their thumbs over the keys, receiving and transmitting gobbledygook hieroglyphics that senior citizens like myself could not decipher if their lives depended on it.
Eavesdropping on a conversation was once considered rude and unacceptable; now it’s condoned, mainly because, in many cases, it’s unavoidable.
Recently, while standing in line at the post office, I was forced to listen to a porcine agglomeration of adipose behind me, whose name was Verlene, talking to her sister Bernice about a birthday party for Verlene’s oldest daughter, Jakayla. Snippets of the conversation went something like this:
“Bernice, this is Verlene. I’m down to the post office, trying to find out why my checks ain’t come. That beer-bellied bum of a ex-husband o’ mine is gittin’ later and later sending the alimony and child support payments. So, while standin’ in this dad-gummed long line that don’t never seem to move, I decided to call you about Jakayla’s party this weekend. Y’all comin’, ain’t ye?”
Apparently Bernice said yes, and Verlene launched immediately into a tirade about some other relative she feared might show up.
“With yore passel of kids and them five o’ mine — not to mention the neighbor’s bothersome brats — it’ll take ever penny of my unemployment check to buy candy, chips, nuts and sody waters. Somebody else — you I reckon — will have to run by McDonald’s and pick up the kids’ meals. I have no idea what to do about a birthday cake.
“I absolutely can’t stand the sight of my ex-sister-in-law Kayleigh, and I’m worried sick she’ll show up with them four snotty-nosed, tub-gutted house apes of hers, being the party-crasher she is, without brangin’ even so much as a present for my daughter….”
With that, I’d heard all I could stand, and ostentatiously poked my fingers in my ears, so that she’d be certain to notice. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“You got a problem with me talkin’ on the phone, bud?”
When I quietly explained that I preferred not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others, she glared at me, exhaled a warthog “humph” and said to Bernice, “Naw, I wudn’ talkin’ to you. I uz givin’ some old geezer in front of me a piece of my mind. Old fool stuck his fangers in his ears … you believe that? Some folks just ain’t got no couth.”
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
