Telecommunicating

Some of the mommy-car drivers I’ve bellyached about, I suspect, are mommies of the thirteen to sixteen going-on-twenty-one girls I’ve seen lately in shopping malls.  They are taking Driver’s Ed and taking it seriously.  All have cell phones pasted to the sides of their faces.  How they can shop with only one free hand I don’t know.  I admit, without any embarrassment – I’ve overheard far too many of these conversations.  This because they insist on sharing their conversations with folks who really – really, kids – don’t want to share their conversations.  These conversations usually go something like this:

“Un-huh”
“     “
“Un-huh.”
“  “
“Un-huh.”
“ “
“Yeah.”
“    “
“Get real!”
“    “
“Un-huh.”
“     “
“Yuh, I’m sure!”
“     “

And so on.  Now you might suppose this is the shorter side of some sensible dialogue, except for two things. 

One, I have never – and I do mean never – heard anything of more substance than the foregoing.

Two, and I swear this is not fabrication.  I recall not one, but two instances where two of these communications pioneers talking to one another, on the phone, stood no more than twelve feet apart.  Both sides of the conversation equally banal.  Not a complete sentence anywhere.  No subject-verb connection. 

In the mall, a phone glued to your face is as much a fashion accessory as earrings and a pair of sweatpants with “PINK” emblazoned across the sitter-down cushion.  I hear the question: “How are you certain these young ladies were talking to each other?”  I offer for your consideration:

“Un-huh,”
“Wha?”
“Un-huh.”
“Fer shuure!”
“Un-huh.”
-[Blip-blip]-
“Saminnit. Nother call.”
“ “
“Smother. Nehmine.”
“Whashewan?”
“Idunno”
“Un-huh.”
-[Blip-blip]-
“Smother”
“Gonasnsit?”
“Gotta. Prolly waiteen.”
“Un-huh.”
“Bye.”
“Shalater.”

At this point the two flapper-hippie-goth creatures simultaneously snapped their (one) pink and (the other) chartreuse cell phones closed, faced each other and finger-waved.  One went off to find “mommy” while the other flipped-open her chartreuse worldvoice and furiously scrolled through her speed dial list.

An aside in parting. Bear with me: young men counterpart to mommies-in-training cannot talk on the phone.  One hand is dedicated to holding trousers steadily at mid-thigh so only the most proper and effective amount of underwear – usually from waistband to crotch – is visible for public admiration with an appropriate but optional amount of butt-crack. The other hand must be free to high-five associates easily recognized by their similarly stunning attire.  And the practice of coded guttural emanations:

“Yo! Tsuuuu?”
“Aeyee! Bro!”
“Eybenuttah?”
“Nomuuu.”
“Yuhh.  Heerdja!”

I’ve heard similar exchanges between Angus cattle in the heat of summer sun. 

No, that’s unfair to Angus cattle.  Angus show more developed language skills.  Sartorial skills, too.

© SP Wilcenski 2020

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: