10/8/99
The
last
Israeli
with
a
cellphone
We're
so
close
to
being
the
perfect
society,
if
only
we
could
find
a
way
to
outlaw
car
alarms,
establish
Saturday-Sunday
weekends,
win
the
peace
process,
generate
summer
rain
and
subdue
Shas.
I've
been
in
this
country
barely
long
enough
to
see
how
things
have
improved.
It
is
true
that
I
did
not
experience
egg
rationing
and
immigrant
tent
camps,
but
in
my
18
years
as
an
Israeli
I
have
been
through
hyperinflation,
couldn't
buy
Skippy's
peanut
butter
and
wondered
if
I
would
ever
get
a
phone.
By
now
I
have
a
phone
(and
I
can
call
my
neighborhood
makolet
and
have
them
promptly
deliver
a
case
of
Skippy's).
However,
it's
just
a
regular,
garden-variety
fax-message-phone
with
memory,
redial,
speaker,
mute,
flash
and
auto-receive
functions.
It
has
--
can
you
believe
it?!
--
a
wire
attached
to
it.
It
came
to
my
attention
recently
that
there's
a
new
thing
around,
called
a
"cellphone"
(it
proves
I
get
around).
Then
I
was
talking
to
my
sister,
and
she
has
"five
or
six"
of
them.
She
can't
even
remember
all
her
phone
numbers.
Well,
I
told
her,
haughtily,
I
do
not
have
a
cellphone.
Not
even
one?,
she
asked.
Not
even
one.
I
do
not
need
a
cellphone,
I
don't
want
a
cellphone,
I've
lived
this
long
without
one,
I
will
not
enslave
myself
to
gadgetry.
Of
course,
she
has
heard
me
talk
like
that
before
--
like
when
I
stubbornly
clung
to
my
typewriter
when
everyone
was
buying
computers.
Eventually
I
broke
and
bought
a
computer.
She
knew
what
this
meant:
he's
about
to
break
and
get
a
cellphone.
"I'll
be
the
last
Israeli
with
a
cellphone,"
I
said
imperiously.
Well,
you
know
what?
I
checked
around,
and
found
that
I
was.
I
bought
a
cellphone.
I
WILL
tell
you
why
I
did.
A
recent
incident
convinced
me
that
a
cellphone
would
be
handy
to
have
--
but
for
a
purpose
heretofore
unimagined:
You
know
how
it
is:
you
stand
in
line,
you
wait.
Eventually
you're
the
one
they
want
to
help.
How
wonderful,
you
marvel,
that
people
have
learned
to
patiently
await
their
turn.
You
peel
off
the
number
from
your
clammy
hand
and
give
it
to
the
clerk
(she
doesn't
even
look
at
it),
and
now
it's
just
you
and
her.
You
open
your
mouth
and...
Her
phone
rings.
Without
having
had
to
wait
in
line,
without
even
having
to
leave
the
comfort
of
their
home,
some
bleepity-bleep
is
getting
served
ahead
of
you.
Just
because
we
have
this
Pavlovian
reaction
to
a
ringing
phone.
If
you've
waited
two
hours
to
arrive
at
this
clerk's
inner
sanctum,
you
can
estimate
that
a
good
half
that
time
she's
been
taking
calls
from
people
who
are
beating
the
system
at
your
expense.
You've
been
through
it
yourself:
you
react
by
talking
fast
to
finish
a
sentence
before
you're
cut
off
again,
and
you
watch
the
phone
with
dread
anticipation,
forgoing
eye-contact
with
the
clerk,
who
has
become
merely
a
passive
appendage
to
the
phone.
This
happens
not
just
with
unthinking
bureaucrats:
everyone
does
it.
The
other
day
I
was
explaining
a
complicated
computer
problem
to
a
co-worker,
and
I
actually
felt
like
I
was
getting
somewhere.
Then
the
phone
rang,
he
answered
it
and
engaged
in
a
long,
rambling
discussion
with
someone
else
who
had
a
computer
problem,
and
then
it
rang
again,
and
damned
if
it
wasn't
me
who
was
put
on
hold!
Maybe
I'm
not
normal,
but
I
tend
to
put
a
caller
on
hold
while
I
resume
a
live
conversation.
My
inimitable
colleague
Alex
Berlyne
once
came
up
with
the
correct
response
to
this
annoyance,
but
I've
never
had
the
gall
to
try
it.
One
day,
many
years
ago,
he
was
called
into
the
Editor's
office
for
a
chat.
Time
and
again,
his
esteemed
boss
cut
off
their
conversation
to
answer
the
phone.
Alex
was
stewing:
after
all,
he
had
been
summoned
for
this
meeting.
Finally,
he
took
action:
the
phone
rang
yet
again,
so
he
yanked
the
wire
out
of
the
wall.
That
was
the
only
solution
available
to
him,
but
nowadays,
with
a
cellphone,
we
don't
have
to
be
so
vulnerable
to
thoughtless
yahoos
cutting
into
our
time.
Yes,
I
got
myself
a
cellphone,
if
for
only
one
reason:
anytime
this
happens
to
me,
I
can
simply
call
the
person
I'm
sitting
with,
to
tie
up
his
phone.
