cell phone vs. phone booth - by Jurassic Jim Fleetwood

Here at The Museum of Sudden Disappearances, we would like to thank "Jurassic Jim" Fleetwood for today's guest post. 

Jim sent this impassioned plea from "parts unknown," his whereabouts still a mystery. We are always delighted (relieved) to hear from him. As readers of the Jurassic Jim thrillers already know, Jim is a bit out-of-step with the times. Not that he cares. Among other concerns, Jim doesn't understand why so many wonderful and beautiful things must fade and disappear from our world, and be replaced by things of lesser value. Perhaps he has a point. You decide. 

Posted is the initial salvo of his lengthy dispatch, pictures included. The rest will soon follow. What's it about? It's a heartfelt celebration of phone booths, and their unwarranted disappearance. Some say Jim occasionally values passion over logic, heart over head. No argument here. Stay tuned for the next installment. 

Herewith, his spirited missive--a celebration of the obsolete telephone booth.

Sincerely,

Tom Davidson
Museum Blog CEO (janitor)

* * *

MUSEUM READERS...WARNING: I urge you to turn off your phone before reading this. This is a cell-free zone.

Phone booth...or meditation chamber?

Going, Going, Gone.....the Telephone Booth

iPhone

uPhone

WeAllPhone

Welcome to iArmageddon

What's iArmageddon? It's the final battle between cell phones and humans who crave 10 seconds of peace and quiet per day. 

Yes. iArmageddon. Where Apple iPhones blast our brains, erode meditative silence, and pave the way for the end of the world through nonstop chatter. Holy crap. What's that I see? Storm clouds are gathering on the Verizon.

[NOTE: Nostradamus, the cranky French seer, coined the word "iArmageddon" 500 years ago when he warned that "...round Earth is like a round, rotten Apple, and endtimes will worm through its core." But hey, to be fair, this dude said a lot of sketchy stuff.]

You ask: When did the world lose its mind? When this device appeared on the marketplace -- a plastic barnacle welded to everyone's head. What exactly does iArmageddon look like? You're holding it in your hand. This addictive tool (think crack with apps), the size of a hand grenade, is dropping the curtain on the 21st century. 

Let's cut to the chase (before you get another annoying call coming in). Picture it. A dark and stormy night. You're alone downtown at midnight. 

Will I get home alive?

You suddenly see a "lumpy thing" barreling your way like a gut-shot bear in the rain. It's half-human, half-metrosexual. When it screeches, it sounds like a tow truck having sex with an aluminum garbage can. You attempt to escape on the wet pavement, but slip and fall in your $900 hi-top sneakers with goofy zippers. The lumpy monster closes in. It smells worse than a sauerkraut fart, but never as bad as blue cheese. What to do? Surrender. If you try to whale on the monster with your puny cell phone, you will die of humiliation. Once your self-respect takes a lethal blow, it's over. If you must die, die with dignity.

This dinky dude pictured below? Be honest. Does this little puke look like he can stop the lumpy monster? 

No freakin' way. His batteries will die while your ass is on the line. Guaranteed. He's not a cell phone; he's an accessory to murder. Look at him. Is that the face of remorse? I don't think so. Not by a long shot. You call for help in the middle of the night, downtown, and his power goes out. Screw him. Put him in prison where he belongs, a cell phone in a cell. Stick him in with gen pop. Turn the tables. Make him call for help. 911. See how he likes it. Make him spend all day pressing numbers on his little chest as he runs for his life from the inmates. Force him to listen to a silly ringtone, maybe Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called to Say I Love You." When his batteries die, he can get a taste of his own medicine. Hey, the little puke had it coming. He never gave you any consideration.

WAIT. 

Cheer up. There's an alternative. Hit the rewind button on the above scenario. Ready?

Same horrendous crap. Dark and stormy night, etc. One crucial difference. See that rectangular box on the left side of the photo below? It suggests a glass and steel coffin? That's your shelter from the storm--the obsolete thing at which the unappreciative world sneered. Ready? Let's go.

Holy crap. The lumpy monster closes in. You turn on the dark street, spot the phone booth, dive in. Slam shut the shatterproof glass door. You're sealed inside. Enraged, the Lumpy One batters the door to no avail. Behind the glass, you laugh, flip him the finger. You call the police. No dime? No sweat. You buzz the operator, say, "Yo, help, now." Within minutes you hear a siren. Lumpy freaks. Lumpy legs it out of there. End of story.

Saved by a phone booth. How do you spell sanctuary? Easy: B-O-O-T-H, baby.

Phone booths.

Save lives.

Bring back. 

I await.

Phone booths can also be used as fallout shelters.

Later,
Jim Fleetwood

click HERE for Part 2:

"Why Bees & Telephone Booths are Disappearing"