Give me a ring

As we all know by now, cell phones can be either a blessing or a bane, depending on the manners of its operator. My first exposure to excellent cell phone protocol was in Osaka, Japan. I noticed that during social occasions a local reacted to a phone call vibration by turning around, pulling out the phone and speaking only when out of earshot. Audible rings were seldom heard and overhearing conversations was only a theoretical possibility.

Talking on a cell phone in a restaurant was considered as rude as spitting on the tablecloth. It simply was not done. Phones did not go off in theatres, during home entertaining or at a business meeting, though outside on the sidewalk or inside the work cubicle personalized ring tones romped unbridled through the air.

I have noticed, however that there seems to be some connection between physics and metaphysics regarding the location, situation and loudness of an inbound call. Yesterday I placed a half-dozen calls that went directly into voice mail, that phone purgatory from which most messages perennially reside, having failed all attempts of redemption.

Despite this tendency, I have stumbled upon a method of getting my calls received, understood and returned with alacrity and aplomb. It is a flawless tactic and proprietary in nature and is protected by a flurry of patents, trademarks and a couple of the boys from Jersey, who, as you might well expect, know a vast array of enforcement techniques. This understood, please remit to me a dollar each time you use this technique.

We all generally understand that calls come in at inopportune times more readily than if you are reclining in your Barkalounger, cell phone on the armrest. Armed with this knowledge and depending on how much you want the call returned, simply put yourself in an uncomfortable position and/or awkward situation and your phone will begin to chirp like a caged canary.

I find that crawling under the kitchen sink or standing on the upper reaches of a ladder while attempting to replace a light bulb on my tippy-toes almost always makes my phone ring. If this fails and you want to up the odds, leave the phone in another room. This makes answering it in time a dicey deal, just the sort of leverage on fate, luck and doom that assures a tsunami of ringing. After concluding the call, remember to get back into position in order to wring the next call out of the cosmos.

There are times, however, when time is of the essence and waiting is not an option and extraordinary measures are required to elicit a response. This is when a little known technique is employed, though it does come at a cost of comfort. Simply take one-too many laxatives and wait for your intestinal track to sound like a subway full of crawfish during rush hour. Sprint to the facilities and within a few minutes you'll hear your cell phone leaping around the living room like a claustrophobic kangaroo. If you can gracefully answer the call you're home free.

Yesterday my wife, Annette, came home while I was munching heartily on a bowl of prunes. She immediately asked: "What's with your newfound infatuation with dried plums?"

Feeling my stomach begin to grumble and realizing the upcoming consequences I replied, as I arose to flee the kitchen: "I am just dealing with some fundamental business issues."

Lance was last seen fielding phone calls while attempting a repair to his roof. His voice could readily be heard, but the pitch was a little off. You may rattle his shingles at lance@journalist.com. His first shipment of his book, "Essentially Ashland"¦The Missing Years," was inadvertently delivered to Antarctica, where a parcel of penguins were eating up on the articles.