It is with a heavy heart that I now admit that through the years, the two of us had begun to drift further and further apart. First, the warning signs of the split in our relationship were subtle. I would get calls from people who were trying to contact the previous owner of my number, and would continue to receive them from the same people regardless of my informing them that they were calling the wrong number. They would proceed to leave messages for this mystery woman when I wouldn't answer, even though I had recorded myself saying who the phone belonged to in the voicemail message. I didn't count these annoyances to be more than trifling...but of course, with time things build.
Complaints as to my wrong-number posse became complaints as to it being a pain to carry around. My model had quickly become outdated, as inconvenient and embarrassing to shove into my pocket as this dinosaur:
|Would you strap this around your waist? |
Yeah, I didn't think so.
Soon, my cell and I weren't speaking with one another. I hardly ever received calls from anyone I knew, thus giving me what I felt justification to shoving it out of sight and leaving it to rust.
Eventually, however, my father realized the inconvenience of me never picking up my phone (as he would sometimes come home to a very angry wife who felt her daughter was deliberately ignoring her calls), and one Christmas (not too long ago) I was given a newer, more innovative model. Sleek, slim, and dressed in a seductive red, I felt like a middle-aged man trading in his grumpy, overweight divorcee for a curvacious mail-order bride.
Needless to say, my phone and I reconciled for the time being and began to hit it off once more. I wasn't being graced with anymore spam calls, either, so it seemed I had no reason at all to call it quits with the faithful piece of technology.
This is where things get complicated. As my texting plan was amplified to 500 texts a month (unlimited for those with the same service provider), I began to get contacted more by my friends who would rather text than call. It was nice to have a reason to use my phone. It was nice to be able to keep my phone on my person and pull it out when needed.
Unfortunately, there are also "those people" in my contacts. Oh, you know who I mean: the person you met that one time who seemed pretty nice so you exchanged numbers and now he or she won't leave you well enough alone. Through the grape vine they've heard that I was allowed to text, and now they text me. Or, if I didn't give them my number, they got it from a friend-of-a-friend who had my number. Sure, it's swell and all to get a nice "how are you doing" text every so often from someone you haven't heard from in a decent amount of time...but where's the limit?
Sometimes, you just don't want to talk to someone. In person, this can often be solved by making an excuse to get the hell out of dodge (or even pretend to be busy using your phone!). When the unwanted conversation is happening through text, and he or she continues to text you even after you ignore half of their messages...it gets old. You'd think that this incessant need for conversation would fizzle out after you had shot it down so many times...but if anything these people only seem more needy for attention when they think you never wanted to talk in the first place.
I'm not an impolite person; I do believe in giving everyone a chance to get to know them, and vice verse, through conversation (whether in-person or online), but I'm just not a very talkative person when the mood strikes. And, with my stingy view on the amount I text, it irks me up and down to watch my text-alert climb in number due to a single person.
And that brings us to today. I don't want to block the number from my phone, for fear of the guilt that may follow, so once again my phone rests, forever on silent, and out of sight until I know I need it.