The Blackberry finally claims me as a victim

I’ve done my fair share of travel, most of which came while I hopped from city to city as a management consultant. It was really exciting at first, with the wonder of new places, different time zones, and new friends always promising to make each trip unique. But eventually the flight delays, cramped seats, and horrible airport food became annoyances that I could no longer ignore. Out of all these nuisances, perhaps nothing galled me more than the loud executive on his cell phone.

Keep in mind that this was still back in the day (i.e., late 1990’s) as far as mobile phones were concerned. They were still these ugly, hulking beasts, that weighed 5 pounds, ran on satellite systems, and were owned by a only a few self-important people. And I hated watching these “important” individuals pace around the terminal, obviously showing off the fact that they had a cell phone, and yelling things like, “YEAH HONEY … CAN YOU HEAR ME? YES, I’M CALLING YOU FROM THE AIRPORT ON MY CELL PHONE. YES, MY CELL PHONE. NO, I’M NOT IN THE OFFICE. NO, I’M AT THE AIRPORT. I CAN MAKE CALLS FROM ANYWHERE WITH MY CELL PHONE, AND I’M DOING SO FROM THE AIRPORT. NO HONEY IT’S NOT MAGIC. LISTEN, DO YOU WANT ME TO PICK UP ANY MILK ON MY WAY HOME?”

So I promised myself that I would never be like these idiots, and that I didn’t even need a cell phone. Well, that didn’t get me far, because before I knew it cell phones were everywhere, and my friends were making it a sport to mock me as a luddite. I never understood why a home and work number were not enough – why did I have to be reachable while I was grocery shopping, or at the gym? Still, I eventually caved and bought a clunker of a cell phone. You know, the one that resembled a brick, and which could definitely not be carried in your trouser pocket, unless you wanted to send the wrong message. I held on to my first cell phone for so long that Sprint sales reps would marvel at it whenever I would take it in for servicing at a store. They'd have to dig around for an old timer who remembered how these clunkers worked.

So it should come as no surprise that I swore I would never get a “smartphone”. I would never become slave to a Blackberry, jumping at every ring/ding/vibration to check who just texted me, or what email I just received. I promised that I would reject any offer from my employer to foist one of these devices on me, because I would inevitably just be tying myself down to work. But alas I failed in my quest to keep this promise as well. With this new position in San Fran comes the mandatory requirement to carry around a Blackberry, and I find myself slowly being seduced by this device. But I don’t want to! I don’t want to repeatedly look for a blinking light to see if I have a message, I don’t want to scroll through easily-accessed web pages, and I don’t want to tap out messages on the surprisingly comfortable keypad. Argh, corporate America, why must you turn me into a drone!