Dan's Papers - April 17, 2009 - The Quarter Goes Where?

Chris and I were in Stockbridge, Massachusetts to see a friend back in early March. The morning was a snowstorm and the early afternoon was bright sunshine to show it off. We spent the night at the Red Lion Inn, about four doors down from a place that many years ago had been Alice's Restaurant. If you don't know what that was about, ask an old timer.

In any case, around dinnertime, we discovered that there is no cell phone service in Stockbridge. We'd been busy all day, offline, so we hadn't noticed. Now we wanted our messages, of course. And so, in disbelief at what we were being told, we tried getting our messages anyway. They were right.

There are two pay telephones on the outside wall of a little shed on the north side of Main Street. The snow on the walkway to them had been plowed. But who the hell knows about payphones anymore? I think a quarter goes in the slot somewhere. But do you dial before or after? And how many minutes do you get until you need another quarter? And what if you don't have another quarter? Also, it was eleven degrees out. Forget it.

I can't believe I have forgotten how to use a payphone, but I have. There's so many things, perfectly good things, that I have forgotten how to use. Cassette tapes. Videotapes. Eight tracks. I still have a record player and some 45s. And I know how to use that. It's not everything. I can still click the button on the press and shoot Kodak camera.

But there is something very special about cell phones, particularly Blackberries, which is what we used to have, and particularly iPhones, which we now have. I never before realized just how special.

The other day, I got on the Hampton Jitney in Bridgehampton to go to New York and less than five minutes after we pulled out realized I had left my cell phone on my desk at the office there. I was so horrified, I kept patting my pockets over and over, as if by doing so it might show up. It didn't.

Next, right there on the bus, I thought to tell somebody at the office about this. I'll call them. I checked for my cell phone once again, patting one pocket after another. Damn! I can't even call anybody to tell them I'm missing my cell phone!

As we headed out toward Water Mill and the final place where people get on at Southampton before heading to New York, I realized that I was on my way to the electric chair. I would be in New York City for three days! I could not be in New York City for three days without a cell phone. Impossible. I'd die.

In moments, I formed a plan. I'd get off in Southampton. I'd go inside and use the payphone to call my office. They'd drive my cell phone to me. And I'd be on the next bus, which was just one hour later than the one I was on.

Hysterically explaining all this to the attendant, she said that would be no problem. The buses aren't full this time of year. We arrived in Southampton, went inside and on the left there is the payphone.

It is so hard to use a payphone. I had a quarter. I put it in, then picked up the receiver and dialed the office. It is so slow dialing. What if they couldn't get me my cell phone in time for the next bus? This thing goes around and around. I don't know. I finished dialing. But it was still a dial tone.

I got my quarter back and tried again. Same thing happened. It's broken, I thought. I tried a third time and still the same thing happened. I tried the other payphone there - they seem to come in pairs - and THAT one had the same thing happen too. Then a Jitney employee, apparently feeling sorry for me, came over and told me the correct way to use it, which is dial first, then put the money amount in afterwards when an operator person asks for it, so I got the office.

Tom drove the cell phone over in plenty of time. I clutched it to my chest in happiness. It was the same feeling I had when somebody reattached my right arm after I had it fall off.

We had planned to sleep late at the Red Lion Inn the next morning, but that's not what happened. We were both up at the crack of dawn.

"Let's get outta here," I said.

Twelve miles out of Stockbridge we were on the Mass Pike heading for Boston, and a mile after that, just as the giant metal tree of the cell phone tower came into view, our cell phones popped to life.

"Ahhhh," we said in unison.

"Next rest stop, let's get some breakfast," I said. And so we did. We were two stupid people sitting at a little table, texting and listening to phone messages and, yes, getting our e-mail and the latest news and stock prices and basketball scores. Ahhhh.