SevenWritez

The cell phone leather made me sick. Never mind that I hated cell phones and the people that seemed to regard them as a necessity, what really got to me was the smell. Dry and acrid, the black enclosed pungency of leather always made me nauseated, much like the people who I saw in the mall, staring at their small screens as their thumbs punched out God knows what.

The sales clerk offered me a practiced smile, and after awhile he asked me if I’d like to see another. I nodded, handed him back the cell phone holder, and allowed him to show off a slew of different cases, ranging from vibrant pinks to husky blues. As he was talking, my eyes laid upon a modest white encasement, a bare and simple color that brought a smile to my face.

“Hey, can I see this one?”

He stopped his gibberish to see which phone holder I was pointing to. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course. Sure.” He plucked it off the steel loop with fey grace. He handed it to me. “Here you go.”

Immediately I felt a bond with the casing. The reluctance to conform to the gratuitous expressions of its nearby cousins exposed a resonance that I did not pass over. In its own way, it stood out from the rest of the phone holders by simply showing one color, no patterns or designs or disgusting leather flaps. I’d found my purchase. Pretending to brood, I examined it in my hands for a little while longer before silently nodding. The clerk—who looked like a man fresh out of college, one angry with the world despite his gregarious façade—smiled.

“Alright,” I said. “Alright, this one.”

We rang me up for fifteen dollars and ninety four cents at the cashier of the kiosk. I thanked the man and made my way to the food court, ready to embark on an adventure I had no interest in crusading. I sat down at a small table hanging alongside side a wall of flowers and made sure to avoid the eyes of anyone who passed by. I removed the phone holder from the bag and proceeded to tear off the tag. I fetched out the cell phone I still refused to use since purchase, and then, holding both up next to each other, wondered about the consequences of my coming actions.

I looked around the food court, at the Subway and the Steak’n’Shake, the McDonalds and the Dairy Queen, the Mongolian Barbecue and the nameless cake bakers that sold cookies of gargantuan proportions (I noted the many fat children who waddled about this area, as well). In front of all were queues of adults and teens, and in many cases the latter group had thin white lines protruding from their ears, bobbing their heads as they thumbed away at the small devices I wanted to do without.

I looked away from this to study those closer to me, the milieu of mall goers who gorged themselves on subs and burgers. On the tables, next to either soda cups or fries were well lit phones that seemed to laugh and mock me. I cringed.

I looked back down to my newly purchased casing, and I knew this was the final act, the torch of conformity burning my way. And it wasn’t some sense of individual defiance, either. I just hated cell phones. The way people swooned over a new text, the inane obsession with talking to one through horrendously conducted rhetoric, an idiotic onslaught of Us and Rs and Lols. The incessant ringing that could ruin anyone’s day, the damn melody it made when turned on. It made me sick, and I wanted no part of it. But even so, here I was.

I slipped the phone I had bought and readied one week back into the white encasement, and there in my hands was the product of giving in. I stared at it for a ten second eternity before holding the off button to turn it on (this always confused me). It came to life with a chime. I sank into my chair and glanced around, but no one seemed to notice. They were too busy dealing with their own phone fueled dramas.

I held my breath, dialed the number, and put the phone to my ear.

Amy answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Amy. It’s Jordan.”

“Oh?” Then she remembered. “Oh! You finally got your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet! What’d you get?”

“Um…I got a cellphone.”

“I know, I meant which one, dummy. I have a Chocolate.”

Since when did phones become parallel to candy? “I have…I don’t know, it’s silver. But I got a white holder for it. It’s pretty cool.”

I looked around, afraid of how far my voice could potentially carry, but no one seemed to care. “I like it.”

“That’s sweet! Did you add my number to your phone book?”

“I don’t have a phone book.”

Amy laughed. “The one in your phone, silly—you add it through the menu. I’ll show you when I see you. Does it have voice activation?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wow. You’re clueless, aren’t you?”

I looked around and realized I had no idea how to text. “I guess.”

“Well, whatever. When you coming over?”

“What time is it now?”

“Fifteen to three.”

“Uh, three thirty, then.”

“Alright.” She laughed. “Thanks for checking in. Congrats on getting a phone, hermit. Now you just need to get out more.”

“I guess. Anyways, I’ll see you at three thirty. Bye.”

“Alright. Later, gator.”

We hung up. I looked at my phone. I stared at it and wondered what dark secrets lay hidden in its diminutive shell. I looked around, and everywhere I saw talking, thumb tapping, laughing, amenities stemmed from the use of that small device.

I wondered what I’d gotten in to.

Monkuta

Whoa. That's a great story. I think it's a very nice "Through the Looking Glass" experience on people today. I love the physical descriptions as well. "vibrant pinks to husky blues." Simply wonderful.

I can relate to the story in that no one in my family is allowed a cellphone until our sixteenth birthday (me being almost fourteen, myself). I like to talk to my friends about how I don't understand everyone's obsession with the things.

One thing:
Paragraph two, the first sentence, you wrote, "The sales clerk offered me a practiced smile, and after awhile he asked me if I’d like to see another?" I believe it should end with a period, not a question mark the way it is. However, you could change it to, "The sales clerk offered me a practiced smile, and after awhile he asked me, 'Would you like to see another?'" That's the only mechanical mistake I see, and i could be wrong.

Overall, I think it's a great story and I love the message it says. Awesome job.

__________________
Monkuta's Favorite Quotes: "Time is our greatest teacher. Unfortunately, it kills most of its' pupils." - Louis Hector Berlioz; "Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings." - Anonymous; "The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on." - Robert Bloch; "Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway." - Anonymous

SevenWritez

I'm 17, and both my friends and family have tried three times to force one on me. I own one now, but I've only used it once. I don't understand the obssession with them (but I'm nothing like this character--if someone loves their phone, that's their thing). And I think that's great of your parents to not allow you to have one until you're sixteen. I see too many kids at my high school playing with the things during class. Seriously. The things are as bad as drugs for some people.

I didn't even notice that! It must have been a typo on my part, thanks for spotting it, I'll make sure to fix it now. And I'm glad you enjoyed the story. Thank you for the kind feedback.

Shadow Reeves

nice.
im 17 and i got a phone last year. i broke in a week (fell over) and havent bothered to get another one. i also don't get the obsession.

at the start i thought it was an old guy trying to get into the new world. i think im glad that it isnt.

good job

doremusjessup

Thanks for the story. Like was said, you need some proofreading. But overall it is solid.

I'm 24 and I have had cell phones on and off for the last 8 years. Right now I don't have one. I can really relate to the story. I think it is the texting that irks me most. Sure, it has its place, but I have had people insist on texting instead of talking when there is no legitimate reason they couldn't just pick up the phone call. No fucking thanks.

Oh, and another favorite was a few months ago I ran into an old friend and gave him my home number. He was going to get in touch with me again. A few months later I get an e-mail from him asking why I haven't replied to any of his text messages. He was trying to send them to my home phone.