(I was going through some of my columns I lhave written over the years and came across this one I wrote 15 or so years ago. I had to chuckle and thought I’d share it again with my readers.)
I was headed into the grocery store when this nice lookingfellow walked up beside me and commented, “This is some beautiful weather we’re having.”
“Beautiful; absolutely beautiful. With this nice weather, the bluegills ought to be on the beds,” I replied.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked.
“Well, I’d like to go try the bluegills but I have this magazine article I’m working on,” I replied, casting a wary eye toward this too-friendly stranger.
“Honey, did you want me to get whole grain or wheat bread?” he said as he abruptly turned down an aisle, leaving me standing there slack-jawed and wondering just what sort of weirdo this guy was.
Then I saw it; he was walking with his left side to me but when he turned, I saw this doo-hickey sticking out of his right ear. It was a Blue Tooth.
He didn’t care if I was working on an article nor did he give a hoot that the bluegills were bedding. He probably didn’t hear my answers and comments with his attention focused on “honey” and a loaf of bread.
Ever since that day when I embarrassed myself answering questions that weren’t directed to me, I’ve frankly been annoyed anytime I see somebody walking around wearing a dad-blasted Blue Tooth.
2
First of all, how does the thing work? I mean, you’re not talking into it; the receiver is way over there at the edge of your sideburns. How do you dial the thing? When somebody calls, does it ring in your ear? If you’re busy testing your spark plugs and your Blue Tooth rings, wouldn’t it make you jump and slam your head against the car hood? How do you answer it and how do you hang it up after a call? I always thought that only smart alecks used Blue Teeth and wore them in public for the sole purpose of annoying me.
Then it happened. I had a birthday a couple of weeks laterand among my gifts was one from my daughter, Kayla. I opened the package to find she’d given me, you guessed it, a Blue Tooth.
I set it aside for several days, recalling every reason I didn’t like those things, especially how ridiculous it looks when a grown man is walking around the grocery store talking to the air or himself or his guardian angel or somebody unseen.
A few days later, I cautiously picked it up and looked it over. It seemed harmless enough all curled up in my hand. Checking around the house to be sure nobody was looking, I inserted the battery, turned it on like the instructions said and stuck it in my ear. Nothing doing; I couldn’t make it stay; it kept falling off.
The more times it fell to the floor, the more determined I was to make it work, so following the instructions, I turned it on. I picked up our house phone and called my cell phone to see what would happen. My cell phone rang; the Blue Tooth just sat there dangling precariously from my ear like it needed a root canal.
3
Determined, I drove down to the office of the company that has my cell phone service, the technician mashed a couple of buttons on my phone and the Tooth and declared it ready. I jammed it into my left ear, and it promptly fell out.
“Wrong ear; it’s supposed to go in your right ear,” the friendly technician said, stifling a snicker.
So if you see me walking around town talking to myself, stop me, turn me around and look in both ears. Chances are, I’m Blue Toothing.