Cell Hell

So, here’s the deal.

My old man, the Monkeydad, is the sort of guy who likes gadgets. Really likes them. Pops chubb over them.

Which is fine, because, let’s face it, gadgets are cool.

The problem is, he can never understand how to work them. Oh, I guess that isn’t all that surprising, what with him being an older generation simian and all. But there are some things that you would expect could translate even to those who still recall outhouses, oil-lamps, and having to manually pump water from a well.

So, while I wouldn’t expect Monkeydad to have an instinctive comprehension of, say, the latest handheld, multimedia, wireless entertainment system, I was at least hoping he could get his head around a very basic cell phone. And when I say basic, I mean no camera, no games, no ringtones, no IM, no MP3 player. Just a keypad, a green “go” key and a red “stop” key. You know, a home phone that is smaller and fits in your pocket.

I may as well have wished for a synthetic go-go dancer sexbot to be beamed into my shower every morning for a little pre-breakfast workout.

See, I got the absolute simplest phone I could find for Monkeydad’s birthday last month. It wasn’t even a flip-phone. Before giving it to him I activated it, set up his account, his voice mail, and even entered relevant phone numbers. I tested the phone to see that it could both call out and receive calls (it could), and that the voice mail worked (it did).

Once I was certain that it did everything it should, I sat down with him to go over the operation.

Not before having about three shots of tequila, of course. When dealing with Monkeydad it always helps to self-medicate.

So, we began.

Fez Monkey: Okay, so, let's just go over how the phone works, and …
Monkeydad: I know how to use a phone.
FM: Yeah, I know that, but there are some …
MD: What? You think I'm stupid?
FM: What? No! It’s not that at all, it’s just that there are …
MD: How can you think I don’t know how to use a phone?
FM: I know you know how to use a phone, I just …
MD: I’m not senile you know. I did call you just yesterday.
FM: Yes, but …
MD: Who do you think dialed? A magical fairy?
FM: No, but …
MD (sarcastically): Oh, what is this magical device you have that lets me hear voices!
FM: Okay, look, I didn’t mean …
MD (sarcastically): How can a senile old man like me understand such magic?
FM: Look, can you stop with the magic, already?
MD (sarcastically): You bring great magic, Oh wizard!
FM: Fine.

So I leave. Three more shots of tequila are about right to numb the growing frustration. I know going back won’t achieve anything, but I'm stupid, and I feel have to give it a try.

FM: Look, are you sure you don’t need me to …
MD: After you teach me to use the phone, can you show me how to go potty?
FM: Fine.

When I get home I see a message on my answering machine. I press “play” and hear Monkeydads’s voice:

”(silence) …What? … (long silence) … hello? … (long silence) … what the hell? How does this stupid thing work? … (silence) … Who’s there? … (speaking to someone in the room with him) I don’t know how this thing works, I pick it up and there is some noise and then nothing on the other end. How do I know who is calling me? What the fu …”

Message ends.

I opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of tequila.

Ook ook