July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Ringing phones a major pain (2/4/04)
Dear Reader
It’s inevitable, it seems.
Gather a couple of dozen people together for more than an hour or so in a single room, and somebody’s cell phone will go off.
Usually it’s no big deal.
A couple of weeks ago, it was my honor to present the Portland Area Chamber of Commerce’s Citizen of the Year Award. At one point, citing prior award winners, I mentioned Bonnie Maitlen, and her phone went off as if on cue. It was a funny moment, and I kidded her about whether it always went off when her name was said aloud.
In concerts or movies, it’s something else entirely, a truly irritating 21st century moment.
But as time goes on, cell phone users are getting better about electronic etiquette.
At least I thought so until last Friday.
The occasion was a Hoosier State Press Association meeting in Indianapolis. Cell phones had been ubiquitous throughout the event, with editors and publishers routinely having to excuse themselves to take calls from the office.
Some took some kidding for their flamboyant choice of tunes to signal incoming calls. Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” seemed a bit much and didn’t really translate well to that computerized beeping tone.
Others put their cell phones on a vibrating mode, so they could be aware of calls without disturbing anybody else.
At Friday’s noon luncheon, for instance, the publisher from Monticello had to get up and leave the table three times to handle work-related calls that were silently signaled on his phone.
Others, however, still have a long way to go when it comes to understanding the rules of simple courtesy.
The HSPA was honoring the late Frank O’Bannon, a governor who had roots in the newspaper business and who was a good friend of many of us in the room.
Denny Huber, publisher of the O’Bannon family’s Corydon Democrat, spoke first. He was followed by HSPA legal eagle Steve Key. Then Anne Mullins O’Conner, the state’s first public access counselor, spoke.
Finally, with tears in her eyes but a gracious smile on her face, Judy O’Bannon took to the podium to accept the award on Frank’s behalf.
It was a tender moment, perhaps her last official contact with the state press association.
And just as she finished her last few phrases of thank-you, a cell phone chirped.
Every person in the room suddenly had the same thought: Turn the darned thing off.
Every person in the room except one.
As we shuddered in embarrassment, the bonehead lifted the phone to his ear.
And as the governor’s widow went on bravely, we heard the idiot mumble the dreaded word. “Hello,” he said.
Seconds later, we were on our feet for a standing ovation. And if it went on longer than usual, it was partly because of the group’s affection for Frank O’Bannon.
But I suspect it was also to keep our hands busy so we couldn’t strangle the guy with the cell phone.
Hello?
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Gather a couple of dozen people together for more than an hour or so in a single room, and somebody’s cell phone will go off.
Usually it’s no big deal.
A couple of weeks ago, it was my honor to present the Portland Area Chamber of Commerce’s Citizen of the Year Award. At one point, citing prior award winners, I mentioned Bonnie Maitlen, and her phone went off as if on cue. It was a funny moment, and I kidded her about whether it always went off when her name was said aloud.
In concerts or movies, it’s something else entirely, a truly irritating 21st century moment.
But as time goes on, cell phone users are getting better about electronic etiquette.
At least I thought so until last Friday.
The occasion was a Hoosier State Press Association meeting in Indianapolis. Cell phones had been ubiquitous throughout the event, with editors and publishers routinely having to excuse themselves to take calls from the office.
Some took some kidding for their flamboyant choice of tunes to signal incoming calls. Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” seemed a bit much and didn’t really translate well to that computerized beeping tone.
Others put their cell phones on a vibrating mode, so they could be aware of calls without disturbing anybody else.
At Friday’s noon luncheon, for instance, the publisher from Monticello had to get up and leave the table three times to handle work-related calls that were silently signaled on his phone.
Others, however, still have a long way to go when it comes to understanding the rules of simple courtesy.
The HSPA was honoring the late Frank O’Bannon, a governor who had roots in the newspaper business and who was a good friend of many of us in the room.
Denny Huber, publisher of the O’Bannon family’s Corydon Democrat, spoke first. He was followed by HSPA legal eagle Steve Key. Then Anne Mullins O’Conner, the state’s first public access counselor, spoke.
Finally, with tears in her eyes but a gracious smile on her face, Judy O’Bannon took to the podium to accept the award on Frank’s behalf.
It was a tender moment, perhaps her last official contact with the state press association.
And just as she finished her last few phrases of thank-you, a cell phone chirped.
Every person in the room suddenly had the same thought: Turn the darned thing off.
Every person in the room except one.
As we shuddered in embarrassment, the bonehead lifted the phone to his ear.
And as the governor’s widow went on bravely, we heard the idiot mumble the dreaded word. “Hello,” he said.
Seconds later, we were on our feet for a standing ovation. And if it went on longer than usual, it was partly because of the group’s affection for Frank O’Bannon.
But I suspect it was also to keep our hands busy so we couldn’t strangle the guy with the cell phone.
Hello?
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