If the one with the most toys wins, I'm one step closer to the agony of defeat. I recently gave up my cell phone. I know to some youngsters this may seem equally as horrible as selling one's kidney, but for those of us over the age of thirty, we realize that a personal phone number is a luxury that dates back only to the early 2000s. In fact, it wasn't much before that that obtaining a phone in one's own bedroom was viewed a considerable right of passage. Even then, kids who shared a line with other family members often had to interrupt their phone conversations with such coarse phrases as I'm on the phone, or I got it, or I SAID I'm on the phone. Those with older or self-important siblings sometimes might hear What part of "on the phone" don't you understand? Those were the golden years.
As a real estate agent, I felt a constant obligation to answer my ringing cell phone. After all, the caller might be a buyer or a seller, or better yet, a buyer who wanted to buy from a seller. Maybe he was a millionaire and therefore all the more profitable a client. The millionaire never manifested, but I did once get a buyer who ended up buying from a seller. And while I got several profitable calls from real estate clients over the past few years, most of my calls were from non-selling family, friends or the vet who simply wanted to confirm my dog's boarding appointment. Worse yet were the calls I received from friends who called only to pass the time while stuck in traffic. These pointless conversations were sprinkled with the caller firing otherwise unheard insults to fellow motorists, a play-by-play of where they were, and the occasional inquiry as to what I was doing. Have you ever realized that when someone on the phone asks what you're doing, what they mean to ask is what you were doing before they interrupted you with an untimely phone call?
I don't miss the cell phone. I'm usually all about gadgetry. At times I would have a palm pilot, a Realtor key and a cell phone all in one pocket. If I needed to take pictures of something, I'd also carry a digital camera. No more. Stuff equals stress. And stuff that makes you accountable to the rest of the world equals more stress. If people want me, they'll find me. And if they don't find me, the world won't stop turning.
I need to go. Must check email.
As a real estate agent, I felt a constant obligation to answer my ringing cell phone. After all, the caller might be a buyer or a seller, or better yet, a buyer who wanted to buy from a seller. Maybe he was a millionaire and therefore all the more profitable a client. The millionaire never manifested, but I did once get a buyer who ended up buying from a seller. And while I got several profitable calls from real estate clients over the past few years, most of my calls were from non-selling family, friends or the vet who simply wanted to confirm my dog's boarding appointment. Worse yet were the calls I received from friends who called only to pass the time while stuck in traffic. These pointless conversations were sprinkled with the caller firing otherwise unheard insults to fellow motorists, a play-by-play of where they were, and the occasional inquiry as to what I was doing. Have you ever realized that when someone on the phone asks what you're doing, what they mean to ask is what you were doing before they interrupted you with an untimely phone call?
I don't miss the cell phone. I'm usually all about gadgetry. At times I would have a palm pilot, a Realtor key and a cell phone all in one pocket. If I needed to take pictures of something, I'd also carry a digital camera. No more. Stuff equals stress. And stuff that makes you accountable to the rest of the world equals more stress. If people want me, they'll find me. And if they don't find me, the world won't stop turning.
I need to go. Must check email.
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