Throwaway society

Throwaway society ...

It was the all the fault of the woman in the fur coat. That's what I
said to George later. If it hadn't been for her, it would never have
happened.

We had been out for the evening, Georgie and I, to our favourite Thai
restaurant. It wasn't that special an occasion, but the food was
sufficiently good and the cost anticipated to be high enough to make
the meal more than run of the mill.

And all had gone well at the beginning. The staff were welcoming, there
weren't too many other people, and well, Thai cuisine is always my
favourite. We'd just finished our starter and I was in the best
possible mood, when I had the first intimation that things might not
stay that way.

Two ladies were ushered to the table next to ours. Ladies of a certain
type, you might say, one with a fur coat and the other carrying one of
those awful little dogs that any self-respecting street cat would chase
off in an instant. The waiter seated them all (pooch took the third
seat) with an inscrutable smile.

After the initial glance at our new neighbours I tried to ignore them,
but this soon became increasingly hard, because of fur coat's
propensity to produce her mobile and start gossiping loudly to her
acquaintances at regular intervals.

I've always thought that restaurants and mobile phones don't go
together. Nevertheless, at first I was only mildly annoyed. But as time
went on and the calls continued, it became more and more difficult not
to be irritated by her behaviour. Presumably we were meant to be
impressed by the number of calls she had to deal with. The drab,
mouse-featured friend had to be; there was no way they could hold a
conversation for more than five minutes!

By the time the ambiance of the evening had been disturbed for the
seventh time I was starting to seethe. I tried to focus on George's
conversation, but fur coat's performance was too distracting.

More than the interruptions themselves, I minded the stupidity of her
conduct. "Who does she think she is", I grated to George. "Does she
imagine we've never seen a mobile phone before?" George simply smiled
sweetly at me, her serenity undisturbed.

When the eighth call came in, I broke. But I surprised even myself by
what I did next. Pulling my own mobile out of my jacket pocket I
flipped open the front and said, "Yes? Hello" in what I thought was a
confident, businesslike sort of way.

"Oh hi John", I said brightly, "Good of you to call. What's up?" I
smiled as I spoke. George stared at me.

"You heard about the contract, did you? Yes, it is good news", I
breezed into the phone. "I was beginning to think it would never
happen, but now it looks like we're set for the next six months".
George continued to stare. She could hear the dial tone coming from the
earpiece, and clearly thought my sanity was in doubt.

"Yes, I'm really pleased too", I said. By this time dial tone had given
way to musical tones. "I was so high this morning that I went out and
bought this new mobile phone."

"It's a big improvement on the old one," I aired, "It tells me which
calls are important and which ones aren't, so I can choose when to
answer." I gave a significant glance toward our neighbours. Georgie
hissed at me, but now the bit was between my teeth.

By now the noise level in the room had dropped slightly, the
unmistakable indicator that the other diners were developing a greater
interest in our conversation than in their own.

"They're amazing, these new phones," I continued, gaining in
confidence. "Do you know, I can even set it so that it sends a message
to my secretary if I haven't responded to a call within 30 minutes.
Pretty good, don't you think?" George was sat back in her chair,
glaring at me, knowing full well the nearest I had to a secretary was
the cleaning lady who came once a week to attack the squalor of my
scruffy little office.

Fur coat at the neighbouring table seemed temporarily cowed; she
certainly wasn't using her phone. Even her friend seemed to have perked
up, and was feeding choice titbits to pooch. I felt alive, liberated,
in charge of my destiny. The thought was heady.

I charged on, becoming reckless in my moment of triumph. "And you know
what's best of all?", I demanded of the now silent handset, "It comes
with a special insurance, so that if you lose or damage it, no matter
how often, you can get a replacement the very next day!"

By now the other guests were starting to look round, natural reserve
starting to give way to annoyance. George was giving me killer looks
and openly tapping her watch. But I was into my stride now, and there
was no stopping.

"Yes, they told me it doesn't matter how often I damage or lose one.
Apparently the company has so much surplus stock they're desperate to
get rid of them." I laughed loudly.

George gathered up her handbag and deliberately scraped back her chair.
"Anyway John, I think I'd better let you go." Already two tables away,
my partner was moving purposefully towards the reception desk. "Thanks
for the call", I said. "We'll sort the details tomorrow."

Getting up quickly from the table, I flipped shut the front of the
phone. George was almost at the door. Hurrying after her, I casually
flipped the phone into the flames of the open fire as I crossed the
room.

George would make me pay dearly for my impromptu performance; I had no
doubt. She obviously hadn't approved. But a quick look back as I left
the room made the whole episode seem worthwhile. Fur coat was staring
at me, open mouthed. Even her friend had stopped feeding titbits to the
dog.

I ought to be ashamed of myself, I thought as I hurried after my fast
retreating partner. Being pleased with such small victories is so
shallow. But I laughed when she remonstrated with me. "It's OK George,"
I said. "It really doesn't matter. It was that phoney phone I bought in
the market last week."

"What?" she said, as we stopped in the street. She delved into her
handbag, "You mean this one?"