Cell Phones: Why I don't Have One

Krikor Daglian
December 08, 2000

I went over to Europe a few years ago for about half a year, and, among many other things, noticed how ubiquitous cellular phones had become (I also noticed that they call them "handy's" in Germany, but that's another matter). In the buses, in restaurants, and on the street, I couldn't escape the din of the novelty ring. So when I started seeing the same phenomenon here, I was hardly surprised. Soon enough, half my friends owned one, and the pressure was on. But, continuing my family's strong tradition of ignoring the evolution of telecommunication products, I have yet to sign up for one.

Don't get me wrong. I fully understand how useful they are. With the advent of cell phones, you almost never have to do a multi-number search for your friend, nor give up hope if you get separated during a crazy night in the city. Like all new technology, a cell phone offers luxuries that can very easily become conveniences.

But I'm very hesitant to join the wireless revolution. For one, I can't shake the specter of the cancer risk possible with use of mobile phones. To my mind, it hasn't been proven one way or another whether these things do in fact cause brain tumors, but in theory, they could, and cancer is an area I don't often fool around in. One of my friends, a proud cell phone owner, points out that people in Finland have been using mobiles for ten years, and they're not feeling any ill effects. Well, that might be true, but I'd like some more substantial proof. Besides, what do Scandinavians today die from anyway?

To the same extent I fear having a cell might end my life, I also fear it might take over my lifestyle. As I alluded to before, it seems certain that my new cell phone would quickly entrench itself into my life and refuse to become anything less than a necessity. I've seen what happens when people who always have the phones forget them - all hell can break loose. People can't reach their intended target, leave messages that don't get answered 'til they've become irrelevant, and the whole new system breaks down. And the owner of the phone finds himself having to face an old, familiar yet suddenly scary existence without their phone. OK, so that may be exaggerating things, but I don't think it's an exaggeration that having the phone makes it very tempting to use the phone a lot, and start to rely on it more than might be advised. And while the conveniences of a cell phone are indeed wonderful, I'm not enthralled enough by them to pay a lot of money each month to have one.

As if I don't already have enough reasons not to get a phone, I'm finally scared off by the prospect that they could be a conduit for video game addiction. Although I often curse my long commute, it does offer the benefit of a long period of time in which I face the prospect of either reading something (in fact, anything but the ads on the subway and the contents of my wallet again) or counting the blocks go by above me as the crowded subway car rolls along. This underground ultimatum, however, gives me my best chance of the day to read the news and become a well informed member of society.

But as much as it is a great way of passing the time, reading a paper on a crowded subway is an endeavor fraught with agility, frustration and sometimes danger (I once greatly angered a man when part of my paper accidentally brushed against his face). If I had my little Scandinavian cell phone with it's built in games, I'm sure I would choose to just save my self the trouble of the Times Two-step and play "snakes". Amazingly, it seems that circa 1982 video game technology is cutting edge again because it's playable on a tiny cell phone with a monochrome screen. And the games I have seen are not even the best old ones - give me a phone with asteroid and maybe I'll change my mind.

So, I will chose to be an iconoclast when it comes to the cell. One day, when there's no such thing as a wired phone, and people choose to communicate exclusively by phone (wearing futuristic clothing and existing in a bleak, mid-70s sci-fi world, no doubt), I might make the switch. And by then, I'll have some other technological breakthrough to rile against.