Famous Last Words: Do the Obvious!
One of the savviest women I know is a lawyer at an A-list Philadelphia law firm. Recently, she invited a new young male associate to join her to observe a meeting with two very important clients.
In the middle of the meeting, the kid pulled out his smartphone and began texting.
When a coffee break was called, my friend motioned for the young man to follow her into the hallway. "Give me your cell phone," she snapped.
"Hand me your cell phone," she repeated. "We are in a meeting. These clients pay us a lot of money. They expect our full attention. What you did was very, very rude."
The guy sheepishly handed her his cell phone, which she took and said, "I'll give it back to you at the end of the meeting. Meanwhile, don't ever do that again."
When the 9/11 tragedy hit Manhattan, Peggy and I decided to get cell phones in order to communicate in an emergency. We got perfectly OK, serviceable phones.
Since then, Peggy went on to become president of the Target Marketing magazine group and found that she needed texting and email capabilities. She started with BlackBerry and recently upgraded to a razzle-dazzle Android.
I am a lone wolf writer and am never very far away from a computer—desktop or laptop. I have zero need for an iPhone, iPad and incessant interruptions.
At Peggy's Android store, the smartypants young salesmen dismissed my ancient Samsung as an "interesting relic."
What triggered this column is the ad below from a May issue of PARADE with the headline: "Finally, a cell phone that's … a phone"
The thing looks vaguely like my sad-sack Samsung, but with big numbers on the keypad for geezers like me with lousy eyesight, and the wonderful retro name, "Jitterbug"—a dance that took flight in WWII and preceded the Twist and the Cha Cha.