Paternally enforced communication conformity not all bad

The inevitable happened this summer.

I was forced to get a cell phone. Yes, that’s right. I… The inevitable happened this summer.

I was forced to get a cell phone. Yes, that’s right. I just got a cell phone, midway through the summer. My dad laid down the law at the end of June, after I had gotten stuck at the airport, or missed dinner, or borrowed his car without him being able to get in touch with me, just one too many times for him to handle.

He’d never admit this, however. His parental justification for forcing me to make such a purchase is, “Living off campus is going to make it harder to get in touch.” I’m not sure I totally understand his logic. But by this point in my life, I know it’s better not to argue with the man.

At first, “the cell” seemed like it could be a sweet deal – since Dad was forcing the issue, I assumed he’d be willing to fund this little communication expenditure.

Wrong.

I am now the not-so-proud owner of a little, black phone equipped with the cheapest plan AT’T has to offer, with the luxury of free nights and weekends.

Owning a cell phone in itself isn’t that big of an issue. I admit, it’s kind of handy, and I no longer have to deal with rifling through the seats of my car, trying to find 35 cents to use a pay phone. I don’t think anyone on the planet was more bitter than I that they hiked pay phone fares up 10 cents.

The fact is, I am now just like everybody else. I am a carbon-copy, cell-phone sheep, like the rest of the world. I have officially become “that girl” on her cell phone.

I sit at work during the day and text message back and forth with my best friend. This is getting to be a problem, seeing as my cell phone plan only covers 25 free text messages a month before I get charged some obscene amount for every time I so much as blink while texting.

Back in my pre-conformist days, I used to watch people sending text messages in class and think how annoying it must be to try to write one. Tapping numbers to create a coherent message? Pshh. Waste of time.

I was perfectly willing to wait until I got home to waste half my life instant messaging people. Now, I sit in class and tap-tap-tap totally asinine messages, and then go home and waste half my life instant messaging. To top it off, texting isn’t exactly improving my grades. I’m sure my dad would be thrilled to find out the tuition money he forks over every semester is going to such good use. Hey, at least I go to class.

Now, let’s focus on the ring tone. Cell phones have to be the most annoying-sounding things in the entire world. My roommate last year had a ring that I would rather stick pencils through my eyes than listen to. She happens to be, like, the most popular chick in the world, too, because that sucker just rings and rings, 24/7. I came really close to throwing it out the window a few times.

Currently, my phone is set on Madonna’s “Holiday.” It’s a boppy little tune that is sure to annoy the hell out of people around me. Naturally, I have the volume up all the way, too.

Sure enough, I forgot to turn it off one morning, and for whatever reason, my mother decided to call me. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why – she knows I never even answer the thing until after 9 p.m., when it’s free.

Anyhoo, I’m sitting in class, and suddenly, “Holiday” is booming through the room. That’s when it hit me – I’m forever going to be remembered as “that girl” with the annoying cell phone.

I guess I’m going to come to terms with the fact that the one thing that made me different from the rest of the world is gone. Somehow, I think shaving my head and wearing spikes around my neck could be a bit of an extreme overcompensation for something as stupid as letting ownership of a cell phone bother me.

Maybe conformity won’t be all that bad. After all, everyone else seems to be digging it. I’ll text message you and let you know how it’s working out.

Colleen Bayus is a columnist for The Pitt News.