Trying To Keep Up

originally published March 29, 2006

This coming weekend promises a perfect storm calculated to shake up our normal lives: early Sunday morning, Daylight Savings Time will kick in, so that when you wake up, it will be later than you think. Then on Monday, Apr. 3, you’ve got to start dialing all 10 digits, even for a local telephone call. A lot of people are going to stumble out of clubs at 3 a.m. and then be late for church because they forgot to re-set their alarm clocks. Meanwhile, wrong numbers will skyrocket as people try to remember 10 numbers at once. That should taper off as phones are re-programmed, but many of us still actually dial numbers—and we’re most likely to be in that demographic where fading memory is most prevalent.

I don’t have a thing against Daylight Savings Time, and changing only twice a year isn’t all that bad, but I think I’m with those who advocate just sticking with it all year. I’d personally rather it be dark when I wake up than when I get off work. My father-in-law Joe Griggs had the habit of easing into the changes of time by waiting a while to re-set his watch and kept up with things by referring to “old time” and “new time,” as in, “We’ll meet you at the restaurant at six old time.” I think wise people find their own ways of adapting to change. My old friends and landlords Frank and Vella Stephens always had a Cocker Spaniel. The one I knew was named “Cindy,” but Papa long before had given up trying to remember which dog she was and just called each one “Bubbles,” after their Cocker of long ago. That way he had more brain power to concentrate on his stock transactions.

I asked at a recent Flagpole staff meeting how many have only cell phones—no “land lines.” All but three raised their hands. It’s probably close to 100 percent among UGA students.

We have a land line at home with two wireless phones and an answering machine. One phone has quit completely, and the other is fading fast. Granted, they don’t cost that much to replace, but isn’t that nature’s way of telling us it’s time to switch exclusively to cell phones? Why should I pay $50 a month plus replacement costs for those home phones when I’ve got one in my pocket that I can answer wherever I am? (“Is that a cell phone in your pocket, big boy, or are you just glad to hear me?”—sorry, couldn’t resist.)

Cell phones have killed pay phones, and wired-in home phones are obsolete, whether some of us have caught on or not. I think my own reluctance to cut the land line has more to do with losing the number than the phone. Our number ends in 3744. Growing up, our number was 3711, and my Grandmama’s number in Atlanta ended in 3714. I guess I’m just superstitious. Maybe Verizon will let me change my number.

The 5-4 numbers here in Athens—for instance Flagpole’s 549-9523—are leftovers from the time when Athens numbers began with “Liberty.” For instance, Flagpole’s number would have been LI 9-9523. Why don’t we go back to that system? Forget the area code: if you want to call Flagpole, dial Liberty 9-9523. Easier to remember, even at 12 digits. Southern Bell’s numbers may be limited, but words are limitless.

Back when our home phone was 3711, the old folks recalled that at our store, Mrs. Reynolds took the telephone grocery orders, and she always answered the phone, “100: Mrs. Reynolds.” 100 was the store’s telephone number. Pretty easy to remember. The old folks also recalled when even local calls were placed through an operator, who, of course, knew where everybody was in town and what they were doing—even better than a cell phone.

While progress was forcing us to move from 3711 to 453-3711 to 404-453-3711 and then to 706-453-3711 and finally to a different number entirely, our neighboring town of Madison retained an independent phone company with exotic telephone numbers like M-25. They’re in the modern world, too, now.

I guess the upside of progress is that once you get all your numbers programmed into your phone, it doesn’t matter how many digits it takes. But by then we don’t know anybody’s number any more, and when you lose your phone, you have to start over—and perhaps find out who your real friends are. For that matter, we lose the home phone occasionally, too.

Dick Tracy’s wrist radio that we all coveted back in the days of 3711 has come true as a cell phone, but Dick didn’t dial damn decadic digits.

Pete McCommons, Editor & Publisher editor@flagpole.com

Pete McCommons, Editor & Publisher

editor@flagpole.com