IT'S A SOCIAL FLAW

In the years after I returned to the United States, the phone became a greater part of my life than before. We didn't have a phone in Valkenswaard -- it was sort of necessary for some of the businesses there -- and communication was usually face-to-face or written word matched by the same in response. But in the States it had already become the chosen platform for a conversations. Which did not work for me. Donald at Drucquers tried to get me up to speed in that regard, but it didn't quite work. Which may have been more my rudimentary social skills than anything else.

He enjoyed a good chat on the phone. I can still imagine him re-lighting his cigar several times while talking. I believe he was ambidextrous when on the phone; switching the machine from hand to hand when using a lighter or reaching for a soda.

That's something I am not quite able to do.

My left ear is my phone side. And I use it mostly at work, when I have to answer the damned thing. And by the way, I prefer voicemail. It allows me to consider things and compose my thoughts before actually dealing with the pressing matter that surely was the reason for the call. "Mr. Martin, you have a doctors appointment tomorrow on the fifth at nine AM, we regret to inform you that there is a flood warning in your area, the knee socks you ordered are out of stock, Uncle Joe is flying in from Manila on the tenth, and the nukes are headed your way, take cover immediately."

A fortified basement if the last would be good.
Sadly, I do not have such a thing.

Rose Street, Oxford Street, Monte Vista Avenue, and Ivy Street in San Francisco. Alhambra and Monterrey Park. That apartment in Oakland. All places where I had a phone, but did not use it often. When I lived in North Beach I only used pay phones and a beeper if not at work. During the time at Jasmine Techologies I didn't have a home phone, but I think I may have already gotten one again when I was at FWB. Not sure.

Now I do have a telephone. Three years ago I had to switch from a landline to a cellular device, because the lines had too much static. And I hate the damned thing. It woke me up this morning. Probably a scammer from India being medical or solar and trying to get my personal details. I did not bother answering, and I haven't listened to my voicemail this morning yet, or in several days. People who know me mostly talk by computer.

Remarkably, I'm fairly good at leaving messages. "Hi, this is Bernd Umber from Swensen's Kosher on Broadway, phone number digit digit digit, digit digit digit digit, area code digit digit digit, the hundred pounds of Nova Scotia salmon you ordered will be here on Tuesday, and we've charged your Visa for the forty percent deposit as per your instructions last Monday the tenth of March. If you have any questions, please call me back, B. Umber from Swensen's Mortuary at digit digit digit, digit digit digit digit. Thank you."

Actually, very few of my friends or social circle know my number.
I hardly ever use the telephone socially.
There is no romance.


Don't call.
Write.



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