No Phones
We woke up to an absence of dial tones. The cable is fine (evidently) and the cell phones work. What, exactly, is my problem?
At first, the situation hurled me into suicide mode. The telephones in this apartment - quite numerous, because I hate to have to get up to answer them - are a symbol of everything that I want to leave behind in life. Their wires run everywhere, their jacks are in awkward places, and I won't be surprised to find out that I'm somehow responsible for this service interruption. I also happen to hate the telephone. There are only two people in the world whom I want to hear at the other end of the line, and, when I do, I hate the distance between us. Friends don't understand my antipathy to telephone conversations, and my efforts to suggest other means of contacting me (guess) fall on deaf ears, for, unaccountably, most people like to talk on the phone. And for the most part the calls are from telemarketers; thank heavens for Caller ID. But there you have it: arrangements are too complicated. It's time for a great big heave-ho. We've got a storage room the size of our foyer, bigger even, full of stuff we don't miss. But you can't throw things away at the storage facility. You have to bring them home first. Why are we paying a handsome rental to store our refuse?
In the past two years somewhere, I've crossed the frontier between planning for the future and getting rid of the past, but I don't yet know how to live in this new country.
A technician will appear sometime between now and five this evening. I hate the nuisance of sitting around waiting, especially as I had to do the same thing on Sunday, when the drains backed up. What else do I hate? Hmm. I certainly don't hate the fact that the phone isn't ringing for no good reason. What if I relied entirely on email?
What a concept.
Comments
I will refrain from making the practical suggestions your words call for from the experience of having them soundly rejected in the past. It's the male thing of wanting to solve problems seemingly laid at one's feet. (Oh, OK. Here it is: get one little bitty cell phone and keep it in your pocket. Telemarketers don't call on them and you can give the number only to K and M.) As for the new country, I've been more or less inhabiting mine for less than three months, and can I tell you how the milk and honey flows! It took more than a year -- OK, years! -- to get out from under and the process was like throwing up. I had no idea the freedom and peace that could stem from a clutter-free, aesthetically pleasing, logical, organized physical existence. The extreme discomfort of the transition IS worth it!
Posted by: Susan | May 25, 2005 11:35 AM
or you could just rely on cell phones and ditch your landline - very 21st century
Posted by: rob | May 25, 2005 12:06 PM
Patience, my friend. So much of life is about waiting for the repairman, waiting to hear back from a job, waiting for the subway. Don't let it frustrate you or get the best of you. Do what you need to do in the meanwhile and everything will run its course. While waiting, keep at the plan to move forward. Or just read. That is what I would do if given the opportunity on this dreary day.
Posted by: Ms. NOLA | May 25, 2005 01:21 PM
RING.... I've just called to say hello and toodles! Sorry for your latest kafuffle, but it sounds like you don't mind too much. It's been my experiene that most men don't care much for phones, my husband included. We can be sitting in the same room and the phone will ring, and he'll look and me and yell, "phone!"
Posted by: patricia | May 25, 2005 07:37 PM