I Hate Mobile Phones

Well I don’t hate my mobile phone; I just hate everyone else’s.

I hate the mobile phones that are carried by the walking dead, those people who insist on walking while blindly tapping away at a touchscreen. The ones that walk at half the speed of a slug and with the direction sense of a tumbleweed in the desert.

And I hate the phones that get held 6 inches from the mouths of SUV drivers, while they barrel down the highway at twice the speed limit mildly weaving back and forth across the white line.

And I hate the phones being held by shop assistants while they avoid serving me on the pretense that they are talking to a work college.

And I hate the phones that require the speaker to scream at the top of their lungs.

And I hate the phones that make text messages in the movie theatre and deliver the same luminance at a world war two era search light.

And I hate the phones that demand typing during restaurant meals.

And of course I really hate the phones that hide in pockets of people in front of me at the airport that cause the metal detector to beep and require additional slowing techniques when going through TSA.

Any phone those doesn’t do these things is fine, but they seem to be few and far between.

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