Please ensure all cell phones are turned off.

As a teacher I consider cell-phones with a healthy amount of suspicion and disdain. It is an inbred reaction in me to prick my ears up at the unmistakable sound of keys tapping or the dull vibration of a message alert, even when the offending item is buried deep inside the bowels of a school-bag. It’s like a reverse Pavlov’s dogs thing. I have become negatively conditioned. Cell phone noise = people having the nerve to not pay me their full attention.

I have learnt to notice the down-turn of eyes and the buried hand under the desk. I even appreciate the blind hand fumbling for keys inside a skirt pocket. The tricks are many. I consider mid-class requests to go to the bathroom as occasions warranting a pat-down of girls’ pockets. I have had children claim a parent is dying in order to win my sympathy and stop me from confiscating their precious phone.

Thus, my first instinct when I see a cell-phone out during a public event is to want to confiscate it. It doesn’t matter if it is in a movie-theatre, or a colleague during staff briefing. There’s something rude about not being able to give the event at hand your full attention. I feel impotent when it’s a fellow adult and I can’t actually order them to stop texting. I see it as a public act of defiance.

Alternatively, it is an example of good etiquette when you’re on a date with someone and they purposefully leave their phone in the car. It shows that they aren’t looking forward to a text from anybody but you, and since you’re with them there’s no point in having the phone around. I like that. It’s one of those things smooth guys do very pointedly. Smooth guys always get the girls for a reason. They’re good at what they do.

Blatantly receiving a text message while talking to someone in person is the modern equivalent of whispering into someone’s ear whilst cupping your hand so nobody else can see. There’s something clandestine and rude about being in the middle of a conversation with one person, and simultaneously getting a private message from someone else (and replying). You wouldn’t actually have the gall to do that physically (walk over and interrupt the conversation) but it’s become somewhat socially acceptable to do it in text. It’s an adult version of passing notes maybe. And there’s a certain paranoia you can feel, being the one who can’t see what the note’s about.

And really, 99.9% of texts are not urgent. If they were urgent the person would have called. Or hunted you down in person, the old-fashioned way. Most of them can wait until you discretely excuse yourself to go to the bathroom (assuming you don’t get the pat-down on the way and have your true purpose discovered).

That is my rant.

It stems from Friday night. I was at a function for our principal who is retiring. Various guests of honour were giving heart-felt speeches paying homage to her. And while this was happening, a bunch of youngish people a the back of the hall were busy typing on their phones. Since they’d recently left school I couldn’t say a damned thing to them. It was frustrating. All I could do was look in their general direction with a furrowed brow and give them my mildly disapproving look. The one I’m perfecting for when I’m middle-aged.

Of course, this rant would be much less passionate if I was looking forward to a text. I currently have no potential texts that excite me. I’ve had eras where there were several people who could spark my interest with a spontaneous text. The thinly disguised ‘I’m thinking about you’ texts that perk up your day. Nowadays I’m more likely to get a text from someone at the last minute saying they can’t play indoor netball. The cell phone is a source of disappointment and frustration! Or the cringe-worthy break-up text. This is another modern phenomenon that highlights how impersonal and cowardly we can be. Though, my house has a lot of windows so I’m not throwing stones here.

I think I’m done.

Tomorrow I might write an opposing thesis, gushing about the brilliance of the cell. It can be my good good friend while sitting lonely in a café waiting for friends to arrive.