(Reading time: 5 minutes)
Maybe this comes as no surprise to anyone but me. Maybe it’s become a commonplace too obvious to prompt comment—but when did it become a given that you are no longer an accepted member of society if you don’t have a cell phone?
One reminder of this was driven home at this past week’s session of Staunton Citizens University, which included a couple of representatives of the Central Shenandoah Planning District Commission (CSPDC) extolling the virtues of the BRITE Bus public transportation network . There is, indeed, much to praise about this shuttle system, especially given the largely rural nature of our region, which is not particularly suitable for mass transit. And the CSPDC has done a masterful job of building up the system, most recently spending almost $2 million rebuilding the Hub in downtown Staunton to make it more rider-friendly. Benches, shelters, landscaping, lighting, abundant parking—it’s all there. All except those most basic tools for anyone who wants to take a bus, i.e. a schedule and a route map.
Virtually any mass transit system you can think of posts schedules and large maps behind glass at its sheltered stops. The lack of these essential clues for accessing the bus system is so obvious that the same CSPDC reps, asked about their absence at the Hub this past winter at a Staunton City Council meeting, assured council members they would get right on it. Ten months later, still no maps and still no schedules—but those apparently weren’t in the cards, anyway. Rather, the CSPDC folks said they had intended to post QR codes at the bus shelters, so that passengers could use their cell phones to scan the codes and thus get the information they wanted.
Which assumed, of course, that those passengers had cell phones. And that the cell phones were charged and had QR-code reading capability. And that the QR codes actually got posted, which to date they have not. . . .
More recently, Augusta County alerted the citizenry that it is changing its emergency notification system, going from “Code Red” to “Augusta Alerts” on Nov. 15, and that anyone signed up for Code Red needs to switch to the new system. Augusta Alerts, the county proclaims, “gives users flexibility to choose how they receive alerts—by phone, text, or email,” which may indeed be the case, but first people need to re-register. And the new registration form, in addition to requesting a preferred language and an address, insists that registrants provide a cell phone number. No cell phone, no sign-up. Got a tornado heading your way? Too bad you didn’t have a cell phone to register for that life-saving phone call or email!
This is not the first time I’ve encountered a survey, order form or other screen-based interrogation that won’t permit me to proceed to what I really want without entering a valid cell phone number. There’s no skipping the blank box. No opportunity to write “no cell phone.” And entering my home phone, which is a valid phone number but not a cell phone, just means someone somewhere will be sending me text messages that will never arrive but will leave that person smugly confident that I have received . . . whatever.
It’s not just the expectation that everyone has a cell phone that’s a problem; it’s the assumption that any phone number you provide is for a cell phone. Nobody asks; they just assume. There have been countless times I’ve been assured that someone sent me a text message—not realizing that it’s floating somewhere in cell phone purgatory. But the lack of a response from me seems not to trouble anyone, since apparently it’s inconceivable that I wouldn’t have received a message that was sent, so I’m either ghosting the message sender or just plain rude. Or it doesn’t matter, which is weird no matter how you look at it.
Cell phone networks, unlike the largely abandoned system of wired telephony, are far more precarious than most people realize, making them most vulnerable precisely when they’re most needed. I was working in downtown Washington D.C. when the Pentagon was targeted by al-Quaeda terrorists in 2001, and again a decade later when Virginia was rattled by a 5.7 earthquake. In each case, cell phone networks were overwhelmed almost instantly, transforming those handheld devices into electronic paperweights. Trying to call home, or indeed anywhere, was futile, but that didn’t keep people from trying, growing increasingly frantic with each rebuffed effort.
None of that should signify that I’m opposed to cell phones, just that I recognize their limitations and refuse to build my life around them. I actually have a cell phone but rarely carry it—nor should I have to!— and then chiefly so I can call my wife when I’m away from home. My home phone is more reliable and has better sound clarity, and when I give out that number I’ve now learned to say it’s not a cell so please don’t try texting. My desk top computer, meanwhile, is far more versatile and useful, especially when it comes to looking at a screen dense with information that would overwhelm a hand-held device—like a map. Or a bus schedule.
Neither of those electronic devices can read a QR code, and neither lends itself to being carted around town. And neither is as task-specific as a map or a printed schedule, posted at the site where it’s most needed.
Looking askance 