Cell phones are instruments of the devil.

I've reached a conclusion - I hate cell phones.

Hate may be too harsh a term.
Let's just say I've grown to despise them.

Actually, there's nothing really wrong with cell phones themselves (I even have one). Except for those that burst into a musical interlude instead of ringing when someone calls. You know the ones I'm talking about.

You're sitting in a restaurant, quietly looking at the menu, when suddenly from the table next to you the William Tell Overture suddenly begins playing in a sharp, tinny tone that sounds as if the Big Flat Philharmonic Orchestra has been jammed into an imported pocket transistor radio. It's the cell phone hanging on some guy's belt and he answers it with a speed that would have gotten him multiple gunshot wounds in a fast-draw competition.

Why is it folks who have those irksome little contraptions can't seem to answer them quickly? They let the darned things play out whatever melody they've programmed into their phones before answering their calls and force all of us around them to have to endure their impromptu musical interludes.

Whenever I hear one of those cell phones I have to resist the urge to snatch up the phone and hurl it into the nearest wall or body of water, whichever is closer. By the third time it happens I'm resisting the urge to snatch up the phone's owner and hurl him into the nearest wall or body of water.

Anyway, as I said, there's really nothing wrong with cell phones themselves, except for those miniature stereo wannabes. They are useful tools and can come in handy. Many a stranded driver's been rescued from the roadside thanks to cell phones, and they've proven invaluable in many an emergency situation. And they're good for keeping in touch with whomever you need to stay in touch.

But do people have to stay in touch constantly?

I guess it started for me on my trip to Washington a few years ago. Everywhere you went there were people using cell phones. On the Mall, at memorials, at the museums, at airports. If there were people present, they were talking into cell phones. I could understand the ones at the airports as they phone in their good-byes or call for rides or check in on business. It seemed virtually everyone had cell phones and was using them as they hurried through the terminals.

After I got back, I started noticing everywhere I went more and more people had cell phones jammed against their ears.

In restaurants.

At the grocery store.

In Wal-Mart.

Driving down the road.

Walking along the sidewalk.

At public meetings.

When I was in Hot Springs at the Arkansas Press Association convention a couple of weeks ago, cell phones were as plentiful as the toadstools in my backyard after heavy rains.

During vacation, it seemed you couldn't walk into any store without finding people jabbering into their cell phones.

At Springfield I was in a bookstore and before I could get to the back of the shop I'd passed a woman who was answering her cell phone (it rang, thank goodness), a teen-ager calling home to see if she'd had any calls and some guy explaining that they'd jumped up and down on the truck's tailgate and everything seemed OK.

Enough, people!

Do you really need to phone home every time you change aisles in a bookstore?

Is it necessary to call in reports of bodily functions as you check the tomatoes in the produce section?

Can you not eat a meal in a public restaurant without having to carry on a phone conversation?

Have we reached the point where we just can't get along without constant digital and electronic communication with someone?

Personally, I think some folks get inflated egos with their cell phones and they feel they're so important they have to remain in perpetual communication with someone, anyone.
You can spot them easily. He's the one talking into a cell phone as he pulls into a parking space, the one gabbing on his cell phone as he gets out and walks down the sidewalk, the one who takes his phone away from his ear long enough to request a non-smoking table in a restaurant then resume his conversation, who prattles between soup and salad, who babbles incessantly between bites of his meal, who chatters into his cell phone over dessert and finally hangs up in time for coffee.

Then the 1812 Overture blares from his hip and he's off again! But only after it plays the first three stanzas.

As Charlie Brown would say:

AAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!