A phone rings. It’s a very annoying, pervasive sound. Not the kind that comes with the phone, it’s the kind people download. Young people that is. It’s a full train, and many people are making those semi-noticeable motions towards the place where they think their cellular phone is. Their mobile, handy, whatever you want to call me. I find myself doing the same, although I know that even if I was traveling through a real sun burst in real time, there is no way in hell that my respectful Nokia would ring like that. This is your phone. This is your phone on drugs…
Two seconds later, all the men in the train car finished reaching for their cells, verifying that they weren’t responsible for the cacophony, checking once more for the missed call that never came from that beautiful girl, placing the device back where it belongs.
Women are still in the middle of opening their bags. Some of the audience is getting annoyed as the ring is picking up and getting nasty. Women are reaching their bags all the way down to the elbows. Some find the phones, show it to everyone, to get the acquitted look from the audience. Some women are still looking for the phone.
Inevitably, one remains. She already gave up feeling for the phone, and she is now taking stuff out of the bag and placing it in front of her on the small desk. Pins, hair brush, checkbooks, diaries, change, keys, more keys, a few pens, a half eaten sandwich. No phone yet. Nervousness takes over. At this point, the train car is dead silent, and everyone is looking at the output of the bag. The phone stops ringing. Everyone takes a deep breath. The poor lady even smiles. Then it starts over. Stronger.
She panics, she turns over the bags on the desk, blushes at the outcome, the audience looks away. Not really. She finds the phone and barks hello. A second later she’s all smiles. Bublil, or whatever his name is, won the next round of “Big Brother”. As for me, I’m changing at the next station to the Interplanetary Express. I may belong to another planet…
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