Beware: Your Cell Phone Can Turn on You
by Karen Williams - Oviedo Voice - Feb. 29, 2004
I recently decided there is a deeper meaning to the term “cell” phone. The person who invented it should be locked UP in a cell.
My phone had been nothing but trouble--mysteriously going over the minute limit, repeatedly losing its charge, and even aggravating me by ringing at church when I could have sworn I had turned it off. This happened during an all-you-can-eat potluck feeding frenzy, no less, and someone literally snatched a deviled egg out of my hand.
Then I realized the source of my phone problems and where I’d gone wrong. I had neglected to give my phone a name.
Years ago I learned the importance of imparting a personal identity to my possessions. Giving a name conveys a sense of appreciation to the seemingly inanimate objects that tirelessly serve us. Those objects just plain behave better when they feel bonded with us, when they feel part of our family, when they have a name all their own, even if it’s something like “Porky” or “Dudette.”
I named my first car “Penelope” Pinto. (She was also known around town as “Kangaroo,” due to the hopping effect at intersections until I mastered the manual transmission after a few months.) Penelope ran beautifully for a decade, never giving me a moment’s trouble other than her obstinate refusal to parallel park.
My next vehicle, a VW van, faithfully transported kids, dogs, strollers, and perfectly good furniture that someone left by dumpsters. I named her “Vanessa Van Go.” She served me diligently for years before she became “Vanessa Van Went.”
Next came “Carla Car,” a 1989 Ford Festiva--great on gas mileage (wish I had her NOW) and with a spacious hatchback that could hold everything from kiddy swimming pools to small countries.
My current car answers to “Mitsi.” Like previous vehicles, this Mitsubishi responds to her name and has never broken down, run out of gas, or locked me out. Our only hint of a problem occurred when, learning to pump self-serve gas after moving to Florida, I inadvertently filled up my shoe with regular unleaded. But I really can’t blame Mitsi for that. (Stupid pump!)
After a computer crash or two, I learned to play the name game in that domain, too. Hence our home welcomed “Connie” Compaq, “Della” Dell, and “Larry” Laptop. These computers have remained functional and virtually virus-free, other than the time I sneezed really hard on Della.
So…may it be known to anyone who gives a darn that my cell phone is hereby officially christened “Selma.” No longer will she be a nameless, formless little glob of wires and circuits. She shall forever after (or at least till her contract expires) be part-and-parcel of this happy household, with a distinct identity all her very own.
Selma, they give names to ships. They give names to hurricanes. HOW could I be so thoughtless as to forget to name you?
Uh…Selma, stop staring at me like that. And wipe that strange little grin off your screen. Hey…wait a minute, little miss! What on earth are you trying to do with that charger cord?!
Arrgh! Cough! Selma, please! Someone…call the number for 911!
Copyright 2004, Karen Williams
