Cell phones are like cockroaches where I work. For every one you see glued to somebody's ear or hip, there are bound to be a bunch more lying around inconspicuously, just waiting to make themselves known. I wish I knew the mental chemistry behind it, but when an abandoned cell phone starts ringing, adrenaline and grumpiness-molecules start flooding into my system. My subconscious just gets geared-up for somebody to either answer it or shut it off. The Marco needs a Polo. And we all know that nobody calls an abandoned cell phone just once, right? They've got to hammer that baby like they're pinging out a torpedo lock on an enemy sub. Infinitely repeating encores of your special theme music for everyone to relish--over and over and over.
I hate being cranky, so I usually try to channel my grouch-dorphines into a little bit of lame-but-playful passive aggressiveness. My current M.O. is to plant a CD spindle cover on top of the musical cell phone. If it's particularly loud, I'll wad up some tissue and chuck it in there for extra baffling. It muffles the annoying sound a bit, but mainly, it turns my frown upside down. When the cell phone owner returns to find their glossy little pet barking from inside it's cylindrical plastic prison...well, they usually aren't as amused as I am. The reaction is a little like what happens when somebody breaks wind and you comment on it--they're embarrassed, but they're also irritated that you called them out and made them feel embarrassed.
On the one hand, I feel a little giddy and self-satisfied about my self-appointed role as the Abandoned Cell-phone Sheriff. On the other hand, I'm a little worried about how I'm setting myself up to get called out for all my crummy idiosyncracies: "Hey Perez! How 'bout a mint, wouldya?? Sheesh!"
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