Cell phones need a phone book

I hate cell phones. Actually it is not the phones themselves that bother me. It is the idea that there is nowhere to escape from people having conversations that are none of my business and that I would rather not hear.
Then there is the problem of not being able to find a phone number of someone I want to call. I wanted to talk to somebody the other day. I couldn’t find a phone book at home so I checked the handy-dandy internet. I could find a map to the person’s house so I could stalk them if I chose, but no phone number.
I found out their age but no phone number. I found out the names of the other members of their family but not how to call them to chat. It was very frustrating and I gave up. If I had kept searching I might have found every newspaper article that had ever been written about them. I might have even discovered the names of their ancestors. I might have discovered that their great-great grandmother worked in a cigar factory when she was 63. Oh, wait. That was my great-great grandmother, not theirs. Nevermind.
We seem to have such a skewed sense of privacy these days. We post minute details of our lives on social networking sites. I know when younger members of the family play computer games for the first time or when they are upset about their daily lives. I know which cartoons appeal to friends. I know their positions on the issues of the day by the drivel they forward to me.
But a simple phone number? I am stymied.
My only resort is to wait until I see them again or to call around to mutual acquaintances to find out if the number in question is available.
The other thing I dislike about cell phones is their unreliability. It has become normal to be talking to someone and have them start sounding like demented gerbils before the connection is broken. We simply call the person back and resume our conversation. Can you imagine if automobiles worked that way? We would be livid. But cell phones can get away with it with merely a little grumbling.
Cell phones seem to be a symbol of our society as a whole. We accept their unreliability in exchange for their convenience. We are willing to trade quality for cheapness. I can think of no other product that works so poorly that is used by so many. And woe to those who choose not to invest in this technology. They are looked upon with pity and disbelief. Trust me. I don’t own one.
But my husband does and when I am stranded at the mall and the car won’t start I am grateful that the unreliable device is tucked into my purse.
I am showing my age by not having my life revolve around my phone. People keep their schedules on their phones. They play games on them. They keep in constant contact with others. They program them so that a two-year-old can call Grandma like Jacob did this past week. Me, I can’t even see the images on their tiny screens, nor have I figured out how to call people without dialing the entire number.
Which brings me back to my original problem. How on earth do I get a number for someone I want to call? I guess I am not destined to talk to her until I see her in person. What I need is a phone book for cell phones.[[In-content Ad]]