I’ve got time on my hands in the Phoenix Airport.
My short flight in the small commuter jet to Aspen is delayed because… ahem.. one of the crew has now shown up yet. Yikes.
Beyond munching on over priced food that one does not really need, and not wanting to read your magazine not wanting to finish it and just lug it on the plane, what’s there to do? Just watch people. It’s America’s favorite unclaimed past-time, raised to its highest art form on the New York subway where the trick is to watch without anyone really noticing you are watching.
For this observation, I need not my eyes. Thumbing through a discarded newspaper, I hear at least three times a nearby cell phone go off. It’s ready loud. And the tone is like a loud Spanish matador flourish. It’s just so silly and I cannot imagine what it says to the world at large. I’ve no idea who it belongs to but I bet it was not a matador. The best thing was I leaked out in a smile and the guy across the way was ready to bust a gut too. A shared silent joint laugh is a wonderful thing.
I’ve been in bank lines to listen to a loud jingle of “Meet the Flinstones” or “Love Me Two Times” blare out in its MIDI like glory from the phone of some middle-age guy in a suit. No embarrassment at all on their part. Cool. I don;t really care or pass judgment on your ring tones (oops, maybe I do in a New York subway kind of way), but in crowded places, in the elevator, does everyone in a 50 foot radius need to know your secret personality? Maybe.
I’m one to talk, since I’ve had a new mobile phone more than a month, and every time it rings. I am still not sure if it is the same sound as last or even mine. It’s hard to even find a sedate ring-like tone anymore, but I sure as heck am not blaring out Beethoven, 1980s pop, or the call to the bulls. Well who knows, maybe I am.
Oops, this must end. The missing crew member has arrived.