This past summer, I studied abroad in France for five weeks. There was certainly a lot to love about the country, from the history to the éclairs. And sure, the fact that drinking wine at 11 a.m. is always acceptable was just another perk. Arguably the best aspect of studying abroad, however, was the liberation that came with my international cell phone.
A few weeks before leaving, my rented international phone arrived. I was shocked to see the size of it — it was one of those monstrously huge models used by the Neanderthals. It reminded me of the first cell phone my parents had, circa 1992, which my brother attempted to flush down a toilet at Nordstrom (alas, it didn’t fit). I was also stunned to discover the phone had only one capability: calling people. I felt uneasy about traveling overseas ill-equipped to text message and odd that Tom Petty wouldn’t serenade me when someone called. Instead, I would be beckoned by “Ringtone 1: Bells.”
In France, I grew to love the barely usable, dinosaur of a phone. Upon my return, I was actually dismayed to return to my old, microscopic version. My experience makes me think about the ease and simplicity that would come with the abolition of cell phones.
One perk of not having a cell phone is that you don’t have to remember to put it on “silent” mode before entering a classroom, library or other locale where a ringing (or even vibrating) phone is taboo. You know the feeling — you’re in class, your phone starts ringing and everyone looks at you with pity. (The awkwardness is just amplified if your ringtone is something along the lines of Rihanna, Backstreet Boys or the classic “Take Me Home Tonight.”) You, by extension, don that same pitying expression, attempting to divert attention from yourself. Without cell phones, no one would suffer this plight.
Similarly, the phones of others would not obnoxiously interrupt intense studying sessions in Clemons Library or pivotal scenes at the movies. I hate nothing more than the echoing ring of a cell phone in the McGregor Room, yet I sympathize with those who must contend with the embarrassment of an incoming call in this silent oasis. The McGregor Room is possibly the quietest place on Grounds; the occasional phone ringing proves there is no true haven from these menacing devices.
Another bonus of an existence sans cell phones would be the subsequent lack of Facebook groups and events dedicated to lost mobile devices. I am bombarded at least three times a week with these groups, which I never want to join. Yet if I need to give the group-creator/cell-phone-loser my number, it’s necessary to join the group, post my number and then exit the group. This entire process wastes about 40 seconds, or roughly two minutes a week. Without cell phones, I would save 104 minutes a year — almost two additional hours to sleep or watch “Arrested Development” DVDs.
One huge benefit of living without a cell phone is the inability to commit either CUI or TUI (calling or texting under the influence). Waking up in the morning and vaguely recalling a string of drunken phone calls to friends at home, ex-boyfriends and girlfriends, or, worst of all, parents, is anything but fun. Afterwards, the caller feels stupid and regretful, and the receiver is hugely annoyed, especially if he/she is sober, sleeping or both.
While I was in France, the single best benefit of life was the fact that I was largely unreachable. No one knew my number except my parents, who rarely called because of the $40 per minute rate. I felt free knowing I could wander off down a cobblestone street or into a remote café, with no means of reaching me. No calls, no text messages — nothing could infringe upon my life at that moment. And, of course, it was a relief that “Ringtone 1: Bells” didn’t blare in Notre Dame. While that is something I could never live down, existing without a cell phone is a way of life I could embrace.
Abby’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at a.coster@cavalierdaily.com.
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