A Nokian Requiem

The battery in my phone lives its own - short - life. I have almost unlimited stand-by time but it gets drained fast when someone calls. This gives me both the benefit of round-the-clock availability and a socially acceptable reason not to talk to anyone, at the same time! If the conversation was interesting I can reload the battery and call back. If it wasn’t, well, then I can always send an apologetic SMS claiming that although I like the caller and find it elevating to trade ideas with them I can’t talk anymore, since my battery just died.
This works surprisingly well whenever one of the parental units wants something, which usually is around noon when, surely, their son must be awake. I’ll just have to “Uh-huh” and “Mhm” for a few minutes and then go back to sleep as soon as the sweet, sweet beeping of a dying battery announces that talk is over. A good phone knows its master.

Another benefit is that the caller must state their business fast or risk to be cut off before the message has been fully delivered. I rather like that. It makes me feel special.

Sometimes I wish that it was possible to apply this in face-to-face situations too. Sadly, the social mechanics behind communication does not allow one party to just leave without the proper ceremonies, which include but are not limited to:

• Waiting for the speaker’s mouth to stop moving.


• Looking silently at each other for a few seconds.


• Looking away.


• Looking at each other again, trying to come up with a new topic.

And lastly, assuming all topics have been fully explored:

• The exchange of phrases of departure and wishes of general good health before the silence gets embarrassing.

To counter boring conversations at social gatherings I try to place myself in a secluded, yet comfortable location and then stare off into space. If that doesn’t work I talk to the cat. I’ve had some pretty impressive monologues with cats, with topics ranging from poetry and fashion to the joy of massacring synthetic rodents. Cats are good listeners, except when they’re hungry. Then they leave and go mewing at their human until they get what they want.
I wish I was a cat.