You. Yes, you. I love you. I love the way your phone rings in the middle of class, two, maybe three times before you realize that it’s your own electronic pocket-pal. I don’t know your name exactly, but I make up names for you in my head. Nokia, if you’re cute. Motorola, if you’re a bit on the hefty side. Ericsson, if you’re smart.

I know that you have eye cancer now, that you suffer from cauliflower ear and that your cell phone bill totals more than the gross domestic product of the entire continent of Africa. But that’s part of your charm: your rebelliousness as you trot around campus, screaming into your overgrown walkie-talkie at someone who obviously couldn’t wait another two minutes to talk to you when you were back at your dorm. You can reach out at any time to touch anyone on earth. I have so many questions for you: Do you ever turn your cell phone off? When do you recharge the batteries? Is it solar-powered? Does it run on cold fusion?

Your cell phone makes you one of the most mysterious creatures on earth, very ephemeral.

Wait a minute & can you even spell ephemeral? Do you know what it means? Or has waiting for the familiar buzz in your pocket distracted you to the point where you sometimes forget that you’re even in class, and start talking in the middle of my $100-per-hour lecture? Are you a doctor? A drug dealer? An attorney? An accountant? A prostitute?

Are you anybody whose livelihood depends on being one phone call away, day and night, 24 hours a day every day of the year?

I can understand if you have a cell phone for personal use, for emergencies or the like. I can even understand if you use your cell phone to get cut-rate long distance. Granted, almost any company will give you better long distance rates than the ones that Tulane charges, but I still admire your pluck. However, why do I tolerate your phone’s presence in class? Why do I just shrug, maybe laugh a little when your phone rings, disrupting discussion or a lecture? If you’re not a member of at least one of those five mentioned professions, why do you keep your phone on during lectures?

Do you not have the presence of mind to turn that mobile network node off? Do you even know how to turn off your phone? The way you talk, you were most likely talking on your old cell phone while the salesperson was instructing you on the operation of your new one. Has that eye cancer of yours rendered you terminally stupid?

Picture it & New York, 2001: A quiet, smoky club in Greenwich Village. A jazz quintet is onstage. About halfway through the show, the saxophonist begins to speak. He talks about his music, how he doesn’t believe that he writes songs, but that he’s merely an instrument by which a spiritual force exerts itself in the world. It’s very cool and kind of creepy. Then his cell phone begins to ring. And he answers it. The mood is broken.

After hanging up, he tries to start where he left off, but he can’t. Instead of being cool, he’s now just some fake-philosophical musician. So, all of you out there, please remember to turn off your cell phone before class starts. If you leave it on, it’s an instant giveaway to the professor where your true priorities lie; and we can’t have that, can we? Plus, and this is the most important part, it just bugs the hell out of me.

The moral of the story: The next time your cell phone rings in the middle of class, be prepared to answer questions about your hourly rate.

Andrew Cattell is a Tulane College junior majoring in English and philosophy. Give him a ring at 1-800-4-CANCER, or send him an e-mail at [email protected].