I used to Like the Telephone

I miss:
when telephones were black and solid and sat securely on tables or hung on walls.
(or cute little oval shapes of pink and  white or aqua, that sat on your small night table ontop of the doily thing.)

And had a rotary dial that made a reassuring whirring sound as the dial turned back to zero after you dialed each number

They even had a smell to them, maybe the wire or the hard vinyly plastic of the receiver,
heavy in your hand, solid.

It gave your words importance. 

When there were telephone tables and telephone chairs, or long spiral cords that your Mother stretched out from the phone on the wall in the kitchen in order to reach the pot that was boiling over while the kids tried to play jump rope with it?

 

When there were telephone books and telephone men, who came to the house and into your kitchen to do their job? And you weren’t afraid to let them in…

When the phone rang, you answered it, or you didn’t. 

If you answered it, you knew the person who was calling, unless it was bad news.
If you didn’t answer it…they’d call back another time.

Strangers didn’t call to sell you something

Bill collectors didn’t call to harass you
Your friends didn’t call you during the day and leave a message, knowing  you weren’t home.
You didn’t come home and walk to a blinking light and “check your messages”
(or be disappointed when there was no blinking light)

When you were speaking with someone, they never said:

Hold on a minute, disappearing to talk to someone else.
They didn’t say I’m losing you
They didn’t say can you hear me now?
They didn’t say I’m putting you on speaker phone, so I can use my hands for something else.
They weren’t in a grocery store talking to a cashier
They weren’t in a bar or club, screaming their response or yelling can you speak louder?
They weren’t driving their car
They weren’t taking a leak and telling you about it.
 
I miss real phones.