Once upon a time there was actually life before cell phones. I know it may be hard for anyone born after 1984 to believe, but there was. In my opinion, those were the good old days. Well, let me be honest. It depends on what day of the week you ask my opinion on this. Personally, I like cell phones because I can reject a call, add that call to a call block list, and send out text messages instead of indulging in a conversation that takes up more time than the conversation is worth. …but that’s just me.
Imagine if life continued today without the use of cell phones. Heavens to betsy! What would we do? How could we as a world function without the use of cell phones? Well I’m glad you asked. Sit down for a spell and let me see if I can paint a picture for you.
Matty Flitterflugen, a 21 year old armpit sniffer woke up in what one would consider a modern day nightmare. Poor boo thang woke up in a world without cell phones. GASP! As she wandered the streets perplexed, she noticed boxes on every corner with what appeared to be phones installed in them, only functional with the use of $.25 coins. “What in the world?” she thought to herself. “I have to call someone and tell them about this!”
Matty reached deep into her overpriced knock off Michael KorKs bag, searching vigorously for her cell phone. What she pulled out confused her almost as much as the pay phones she’d seen splattered on every corner.
“A pad and pencil?” she questioned aloud. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
She attempted to write down her witnessing on the scribble pad, unsuccessfully ignoring the blisters on her fingers caused by the writing she was ever so not used to. Still, she managed to jot down the words:
MA, CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? THERE IS THING ON EVERY CORNER THAT RESEMBLES A PHONE. YOU ACTUALLY HAVE TO PAY TO USE IT. WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHERE AM I? WHERE ARE YOU?
Upon completion of the note, she found herself dealing with another problem. How was she going to deliver this message to her mother? Scratching her chin, she became flustered with worry and frustration, when out of nowhere a seemingly trained pigeon landed at her feet carrying a mailman’s messenger bag.
“A pigeon?!” she exclaimed.
“Not just a pigeon.” the bird responded. “A messenger pigeon, at your service me’lady.”
As if things weren’t wonky enough, this Thanksgiving meal reject was actually speaking to her. If she didn’t think she was crazy before, she was questioning her sanity now.
The pigeon reached out its wing, enthusiastically awaiting Matty to hand the note over so that it may fly to its intended destination. Matty looked in the sky and saw it was filled with pigeons carrying heavy messenger bags. Her discovery was soon blinded by a load of bird shit that fell in her eyes, burning them on touch. The irritation disgusted her, not to mention the smell. She ran for cover as bird shit dropped from the heavens like a tropical thunder storm. Cars were covered in the excrement and the streets became slippery, making her not-so-stealthy escape even more un-stealthy as you can imagine.
“There has to be another way. I can’t be in a world without cell phones.” She cried as she ran in search for cover, sneezing uncontrollably, instantly reminded she was allergic to both pigeons and bird shit. She knew there could be no way her mother would receive her message with all of the pigeons that polluted the air. The confusion of the winged mailmen…uh, mailbirds… confused her even more. They had to confuse each other equally as much. How would she reach her mother? How would she reach anyone? Then it came to her – a SMOKE SIGNAL!
Matty dove under a tree (perhaps the dumbest place she could dive considering trees were the pigeons’ high rise apartment complex) and picked up two sticks. In a frantic panic, she rubbed the sticks together until they burst into flames, sending black smoke to the air, killing some of the pigeons. There were, however, two problems she faced. She didn’t know how to send or control smoke signals, nor prevent the trees from burning down, which is exactly what happened. A strong gust of wind, no doubt from the pigeons’ flapping wings (or those pigeons falling to their deaths), carried the blaze throughout the neighborhood until the flames molested one tree after another, leaving the streets covered in ash and debris.
She knew she had somehow made matters worse and had become devastated with guilt. “I have to find a fire station. But how?” she thought to herself. That’s when a man clad in a blue suit galloped by on the back of a North American llama. The guy made a weird siren sound with his mouth, no less weirder than streets filled with [bird] shit stains or a sky full of scavengers carrying over-the-shoulder book bags.
“Excuse me, sir…” Matty addressed the gentleman. “I need to find a fireman. Can you give me a lift to the nearest fire station?”
“I am a fireman, ma’am. I would ask you ‘what seems to be the problem,’ but I think I have an idea of what the problem is. OH SHIT!” The gentleman’s untimely chivalry was interrupted by an angry mob carrying pitch forks and celery sticks.
“If you’ll excuse me ma’am, I have to run. That mob heading this way is a gang of fast food franchise owners on the prowl for llama meat. They want to collect my ride, dismember it and serve it on their $1 menu(s). I have to go. NOW. GITTY UP!” And with his final command, he rode off into the burning neighborhood, leaving Matty alone to sweat and cry and worry, still with no delivered message and no closer to a fire station.
Ladies and gentleman, if we existed in a world today without cell phones, all of our names would be Matty Flitterflugen, and we’d all be up shit’s creek with a bunch of dead birds and ash in our hair.