Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

Probably not unless it’s your ringtone.

Most of you own a cellphone.

Some of you, like me, still own a landline. We’re dinosaurs. Our numbers are diminishing, as evidenced by phonebooks as thin as fasting supermodels. Busy signals and operators have become rarer than hen’s dentures. We need landlines to find our cellphones.

Is “cellphone” one word or two? The Associated Press says that “cellphone” is one word. I believe it.

You’re not a Luddite if you don’t own a cellphone. You’re one of those rare individuals who has something called “free time.” That’s because you don’t have to Google something each time you entertain a thought. Not having a cellphone frees up 17 hours and 34 minutes per person per day on average. Those numbers come from an outfit called The Bureau of Odd and Fabricated Statistics. An interesting fact about that organization is that it doesn’t exist.

Cellphones have become ubiquitous since space aliens brought them to us. A remote island wouldn’t just have remotes, it would have cellphones, too.

How has a cellphone changed your life?

I’d be out of business without one. I’m self-employed. iI iOwn iAn iPhone. I don’t know how to do everything on my cellphone. If my iPhone were a car, the blinker would be on most of the time.

During my formative years, we had one phone and it was attached to the living room wall. When answering the phone, I was never once asked, “Where are you?” The caller knew I was home.

When answering my cellphone, I get that question often. That’s because it’s a mobile phone. And it’s a camera. It’s nearly miraculous when a cellphone goes a day without taking a photo.

When eating in restaurants, I observe people taking photos of food. I assume it’s for posting on Facebook or some other form of social media. I’ve yet to snap a photo of a beef commercial. I admit that I’ve taken a photo of food. Please don’t judge me. That’s what I ask of Santa Claus each year. It was of poutine. Poutine is a French-Canadian dish made up of french fries, cheese curds and brown gravy. It’s gooder than grits. I thought a photo might prove beneficial in case I needed to tour an emergency room.

Each time I get a notion to photograph food, I consider those less fortunate souls who aren’t able to take photos of their food.

People take photos of everything. Subjects don’t get a chance to dress in their finest duds or work up their best smiles. We still forget things, but we have photographic proof. If we can find it.

I watched a young woman looking at her cellphone when she sneezed. The sneeze was too quick for her to find an elbow — hers or anyone else’s. The hand holding the cellphone moved to her face. That’s right, she sneezed on her cellphone. At least, I hope it was hers. We are all actors without a script. All I could do was offer a “Gesundheit.”

By that time, she had already taken a selfie and was texting, tweeting and posting about the experience.

I worked in a large city in Kentucky, staying in a tall hotel. A fellow passenger texted furiously on his cellphone as the elevator descended. Arriving at the lobby floor, the door opened and out we went. As he continued to text, he walked smack dab into a wall. A hotel wall doesn’t give much. I wanted to laugh, but I needed to make sure he was OK. I couldn’t ask if he was OK because then he’d know that I’d witnessed his nose-first stroll into a wall and he’d feel even more of a doofus. I wished he’d have been wearing protective headgear.

Cellphones make everyone a participant in the world’s forensics. We’re forced to listen to phone conversations of others, both sweet and angry. The relentless talk makes it impossible for the rest of us not to hear it. We want people to lower the volume and/or change the subject, especially when they’re yelling into a cellphone in a public restroom.

Not all the talk is necessary. Clishmaclaver (idle or foolish talk) aids in procrastination.

My parents’ generation memorized epic poems and lengthy Bible verses. I can’t even recall any phone numbers. They’re all stored in my cellphone for speed dialing.

I delight in visiting with people, talking to them in person.

There is no app for that.

 

Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday and Sunday.