It was a lovely night. I was dining at a truly upper-scale restaurant with some family members -- a rarity for me, seeing as I usually dine at places where the wine list consists solely of ketchup and possibly grape juice. We were enjoying wonderful food and delightful conversation. Our moods were happy (the bill had not arrived yet); it was as if were in our old little world.
Then we heard the ring, which sounded like someone was trying to tickle a disgruntled otter. That noise was followed my a man speaking in a volume and tone approximately equivalent to the sound made by a moose trying to mate with a Boeing 747:
"HI. YEAH, WHERE ARE YOU? YEAH, I AM AT THE RESTAURANT. IT IS REALLY NICE HERE. VERY RELAXING. UH-HUH. YEP. I AM HAVING THE CHILLED TOMATO SOUP.
If the man had not ended his inane conversation soon after that, I would have made a point of shoving his cell phone in a place where only proctologists and people with roto-rooters would have been able to reach out and touch someone with that phone, if you catch my drift. And I am normally a sensible, non-violent person, not prone to physical violence in restaurants.
I was especially cranky this night because of what had transpired in church earlier that day. In all of my years of going to church, I had never heard a cell phone go off in the middle of a religious service. But on that day -- I am not making this up -- the cell phones of two different people rang, within about a minute of each other. And of course, this happened during the passing of the sacrament.
And to make matters worse, the first person just let the phone ring and ring and ring, apparently embarrassed he was such a moron to bring in his cell phone while it was on. I just wish the bishop would have gotten up and called the cell phone users to repentance or something.
This is evidence that cellular phones are increasingly becoming a problem. Especially on the roadways are cell phones definite problem-causers. We almost lost country singer George Jones recently, in large part, because he was jabbering on a cell phone as he zoomed down the road.
Despite one published study after another that proves talking on a cell phone decreases one's mental capacities to that of Spam, people keep talking on the phones while driving. Every day, these people drive down our freeways, making stock transactions, ordering pizzas, and calling pornographic 1-900 numbers -- and we have to avoid them in a weird game of real-life bumper cars.
Do not get me wrong -- I have a cellular phone, which I use in places that are not church, nice restaurants or Interstate 80. It is a very handy thing to have. But there is a time and a place for cell phones.
Therefore, I have several suggestions on how to deal this increasing cellular phone dilemma:
-- Place warning labels on cellular phones. Heck, there are warning labels on everything these days--why not cell phones?
WARNING: THIS PHONE SHOULD BE USED ONLY IN APPROPRIATE PLACES. USE OF THIS PHONE IN PLACES NOT DEEMED APPROPRIATE, SUCH AS RESTAURANTS, CHURCHES, FREEWAYS, FUNERALS, WEDDINGS AND OPERATING ROOMS, MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS BODILY HARM, INCLUDING THE PLACEMENT OF THIS PHONE IN A BODILY ORIFICE NOT NORMALLY ASSOCIATED WITH CELL PHONE STORAGE. THANK YOU.
However, some people may feel this solution does not go far enough. Therefore, my second suggestion:
-- Make repeat cell phone offenders wear a special tag showing they are cell phone idiots. That way, church officials, restaurant servers and police officers could know who these people are, and stop them on their way into churches, restaurants, freeways, etc. to confiscate the cell phones.
I think these suggestions should be made into legislation to be immediately looked into by all levels of local, state and federal government. I have a feeling these initiatives would be passed easily. After all, there are only two groups that would possibly oppose them: proctologists (who would fear losing the phone-removal business) and cell phone users. And the cell phone users, with their brains of Spam, would be too busy talking on the phone to even be aware of such legislation.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who plans on munching down some major ribs this weekend--and wiping the excess barbecue sauce on cell phone idiots when they are not looking. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays; he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.