Every time you use a cell phone, a piece of you dies. You become a tool.Maybe you’re okay with being a tool. You are not alone. I heard that in Asia and Europe even more people have cell phones. Therefore, people in Asia and Europe are tools. I’m not sure about Oceania.
Every time you sit in the grill talking about your personal life and what so and so did whenever or when you play solitaire on your phone even though you already have a palm pilot, every time you text message (or leave your instant messenger on overnight, for that matter. Who died and made you so important?) . . .
A piece of yourself disappears, since you are so easy to get a hold of.
Let’s say it’s Friday night. You are at Perkins. You’re supposed to go to a party, a guy says, and you forgot. But before you leave Perkins, the waitress comes to ask you if you wanted dessert.
You are on the phone to me. The waitress waits. And waits. And waits. You are at table five. A starving, runaway orphan child sits at table six. Because you talk to me when you should be conducting a perfectly normal business transaction, a piece of that orphan dies.
Because you let a piece of you die and him die, you are a homicidal tool.
Because you check your messages before each class, you’re deluded. What could you possibly do about such a message while you are in your class? I know you. Trust me, you aren’t that important.
Mr. Lee ought to remember that no one owning a cell phone is worth his friendship. People who use cell phones and spend 95% of their time on the LU campus are morons.
You pay 30 bucks a month for a carcinogenic piece of plastic. You make me sick. Get out of my sight and go to Radio Shack, you loser: they’re called walkie talkies.