On call no more: One woman's decision to let go of her cell phone

By Jennifer Imsande

I was seduced by mobile phones. Now I hate them.

After being broadsided four times in four minutes at the college where I teach by students who were trying to walk and text at the same time, I decided to give my phone up. Cold turkey. I'm going back to a land line.

People say I'm nuts. Don't I know winter's coming? What happens when I slide into a ditch in a snowstorm? When my child gets sick at school? You'll really miss the convenience, they say. It's worth the price.

Not to me. I figure I've paid $7,000 to mobile phone companies over the last 10 years. Not once in that time have I landed in the ditch or been in an accident.

For my seven thousand bucks, I get sound that is compressed and distorted. I try to talk to my little boy -- who lives with his dad, 130 miles away -- and all I can make out is a sound like wind being pushed through a straw.

My daughter might be telling me about something scary or good that happened at school, and then... silence. Lost reception. She's young and doesn't know about dropped calls. She keeps talking, thinking her mom is still at the other end.

I've also paid a professional price. We complain about working harder than ever and having no time for family. But when we take the phone everywhere, we're available everywhere, even in our bedrooms and bathrooms.

Mobile phones have changed us. We've become as unreliable as the plans we make, which are contingent and fluid. We've learned to expect people to interrupt conversation at dinner to check their e-mail. We hear a beep and respond like lab rats, automatically pressing a button to retrieve our pellet of noise or news.

Because everyone has a phone strapped to the hip, we feel free to change plans at the last minute. If I had a nickel for every time someone has texted me to say she'll be late to an appointment she's already missed, I wouldn't have to worry about the price of convenience. I could pay.

But that's the thing about cell phones: They make everyone feel special and necessary. So uniquely important that they have to be on call at all times.

I'm not that important. The world won't end if I leave my phone at home. That's why I'm going cold turkey, and proudly joining the small minority of Americans who don't have mobile phones.

It won't make me more important. I'll just be harder to reach. That's got to mean something.

Jennifer Imsande, Duluth, is associate director of the Masters in Advocacy and Political Leadership program at the University of Minnesota Duluth.

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