Addiction

I have a desire that’s developed over the years and intensified with the recent imposed quarantine. It’s not drugs, not alcohol, but the need for a phone. As a child and early adulthood the phone only commanded attention when its loud incessant ringing caused someone to answer it to stop its intrusion.

The first telephone I remember was a wooden box hung on the wall with a crank handle and a black receiver that dangled from its cradle. It was a party line and not always available for use. Others might be talking. Patience was required to place a call. When the line was free, the person making the call would twist the crank to get the attention of the switchboard operator who would transfer thr call to the intended phone number. When we received a call, we had to listen to the length and number of rings to know whether the call was for us or not. One problem happened when someone on your line forgot to hang up essentially blocking the line.

The local phone system and telephones improved. No party more lines and we could make our calls directly with a rotary dial, you knew the number. If not, there was always the telephone book or directory assistance…for a small fee.

Push button dialing was the next innovation. Curly plastic covered wires connected the receiver to the telephone body. The phone could sit on a desk, a table, or hung on the wall. Cords became longer and conversations could continue while raiding the refrigerator or lying comfortably on the floor.

I became more attached to my phone when I worked as a nursing supervisor. Initially when I was needed an overhead page system would summon me to phone or go to certain areas of the hospital. Next came the pagers, its beeping caused me to look to see the number march across the miniature screen. The next invention was the cell phone. It wasn’t my favorite. It demanded immediate attention, even in the bathroom. A person couldn’t find a few minutes to relax even there.

When I came home from work and our house phone rang, I allowed someone else to answer it. I was burned out and really didn’t care who was calling.

My kids finally talked me into my first cell phone, a small flip phone. I disliked the tiny key pad and my fat fingers often fumbled when making a call. Slowly the cell advanced and thus began my addiction. I don’t panic if it’s not with me, but I do struggle when it’s on silent and I can’t find it. Now I have access many aps and unless I silence it, I get notifications then am drawn to see what is happening.