Cell Phone Nutbars

Of course, there are the idiots behind the wheel of that Special Edition! Chrysler Towne & Country, ripping down the passing lane at 83 mph, with the DVD going in every seat, and the one in the front dash, and the GPS nav blinking and blurching noises to them, with that goddamn cell phone glued to their face, paying more attention to the talk with the friend of a friend of a high school acquaintance, or the latest gossip from the PTA. With one hand on the wheel.l And then they get aggressive after they've caused the accident, challenging those who would point out how they were completely unfocused on maintaining responsible control of their vehicle to prevent damage and injuries to others and themselves. Or those in a Beemer, or Porsche, or Chrysler 300, or a (your dumbass cell phone user car name here). Yeah, this bunch is a given.

There was the young, jiveass-jackass punk at the supermarket checkout, talking to his jackass-punk best-bud, with every other word "fuck" or "motherfucker," "cocksucker," etc. And not low or subtle, but just like he was jacking with his buddy playing XBox over at his place, everything punctuated for dumbass masculine emphasis. Now, I don't mind profanity one single bit, and I've been known to use my fair share of it, ignoring those holier-than-thou twits who have heard somewhere and repeat endlessly that using profanity "is a sign of a limited/poorly developed intellect." Yeah, whatever the fuck. I mean, profanity is perfectly useful social and contextual punctuation, a good way to get attention on a subject or emphasize it, and to just express clearly and directly exactly what you're feeling; y'know, for those times when "Shucks!" or "Darn it all!" just dont' fit the bill. I mean, other than words like "lying," "adulterous," "selfish," and "deceitful," the absolutely perfect word for my ex-wife has been and always will be "cunt." That's a specific and special word, for a special, special non-lady, and manages to communicate in one syllable and four letters exactly what I think of the wretched excuse for a human, and what she did to me, her family, my family, etc.

Okay, back to the jackass. I mean, it was the express lane n' all, but that kind of language, with the oldsters front and back, the moms with the kids, and just general public all standing within easy earshot of this inconsiderate dipshit was just not publicly acceptable. So, I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to tone it down. Do you think he got immediately defensive and then aggressive? You betcha, canting his arms and his body immediately to tell the 40-something oldster a thing or two. It was all about his dumbas chest-puffed-out freedom and even the First Amendment, which I thought was particularly good. My laughing response to his ridiculous tirade was that he was rude, profane, and completely oblivious to normal standards of acceptable public conduct. That didn't seem to faze him, of course, and I asked him if talked like that around his mom. One of the ladies somewhere behind me chimed in with a low but distinct, "Yeah" as soon as I'd asked him that--good on her. Instead of what I expected to be a, "Yeah, I do, so what?" it shut him right on up, and he finished his call right quick. Even I was surprised. And approving nods and smiles from the surrounding folks who didn't have the gumption to tell a jerk that he's being a jerk.

But here are a couple of the new ones I've just encountered, taking the cell phone shithead status right on over the top.

Driving home last night, there was a rather attractive, fit, and tan 40-something neighborhood lady out for an evening run. She looked great in her shoes, running shorts and a tight sports bra with that little bit of highly sexy sweat arcing darkly down in the front, a sign that she's actually working, not just posing. And as I approached, there she was with that goddamn cell phone glued to the side of her head, her arm up in the air as she ran through the neighborhood.

I mean, seriously, what is so pressing that she has to talk on the phone during a run? Of all the times I'd rather not talk on the phone, it would be during a physical workout, when I'd rather be alone with my thoughts, sorting through the day, practicing some simple meditation, concentrating on my breathing in rhythm with my steps, that kind of therapeutic and relaxting activity to complement the physical activity. That, and just concentrating on the workout, which after all, is kind of the point on going for a run in the first place.

Is she so important that she's got to have that phone? Maybe she's an important govvie, and has to stay in constant contact with the leadership of the Free World in order to keep us all safe and knee-deep in cable television and zero-interest loans. But if she were that important, where was her wired-up security, and why is she even allowed to run in public in the first place?

Maybe she's a broker or other high-speed business type, yelling "Buy! Buy! No, sell! Sell!" as she runs, the billions of dollars of hundreds of thousands of investors around the globe depending on her unique, insightful, snap fiscal decisions. But if so, why in the hell isn't she in the office, where she could concentrate on the obvsiously important task at hand? I don't want to be in business with someone who runs with a cell phone against their head.

Or is it just that she thinks so highly of herself that she can't be somewhere where she can't be reached immediately? I mean, what kind of selfish, vain moron has to be in that kind of constant contact? Did she initiate the call, which in my mind would be worse than receiving it? (although, just carrying it on a run in the first place is pretty dumbass, with making or answering a call once you're running being the follow-on stupidity.) Or did she simply answer? And if she answered, why didn't she say, "I'm in the middle of a run. Call me back in an hour?"

That's pretty far out there, sure, but then there's the guy at work who talks on his cell phone in the Subway (restaurant) bathroom as he sits and voids his bowels. This instance is both far away from and very close to the cell phone runner, actually. Again, this is about the last place I'd like to have a cell phone conversation. It's the kind of a place where you cherish privacy, trying to do a very private thing in a very public place. So why would you want to broadcast every word you're saying in the restroom? Why would you be so presumptiuous and/or idiotic to do that? Do you want your caller to hear you grunting away at fecal production, hearing the "dlop, dlop" into the bowl, the flushing, the whole experience? What does that tell the person at the other end, that you're taking a dump while talking to them on the phone? Do you do that face to face?

I've been in this restroom on three separate occasions at lunchtime, as I get ready to order my tuna on Italian herbs and cheez, and this guy is in there, pants around his ankles, yapping away. One call apparently was to a brother, or a very close friend. Lots of joking and swearing, inside jokes, that kind of thing. And the guy was talking at regular volume, like the grocery store dumbass not being subtle or quiet in any way. Everyone in and out of the restroom was getting the entire story. Another time there was the business talk, either with a broker or some such, yapping about portfolios and performances. The last time was about some kind of family matter, complaints about a teacher and that educator's apparently less than acceptable approach to teaching a child I made out to be a son. In both cases, hasn't Pooping Cell Guy enough sense to realize that he's just plain tacky, sitting there pooting while calling? Is this guy just so goddamn busy that the only time he's got for private calling is when he's dumping? Is he so swamped in his life and in his work that even that private time to just sit and think and dump in solitude has to be sacrificed for multi-tasking? I would think that even that idiot George W. Bush has to have some minimal private time to put down a log, and that's a guy who scheduled right on down to 30-second intervals.

Me, it seems that this toilet guy likes the attention, that he gets off on spilling this info publicly. The sexual conspiracy theorist that I am has this guy not pooting while he in there with his pants around his shoes, but pulling his pud furiously as he gets off on the sexual/scatological physical and metaphysical context of his public admissions and statements. I mean seriously, why else would he be in there, doing this?

In some ways it's darkly humorous. But more than anything, it's just plain sad.

So many idiots, so few man-eating grizzly bears.