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It's A Café Table, Not Phone Booth

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It's A Café Table, Not Phone Booth
I’m guessing you were held hostage today. Maybe three, four times. Then you finished your latte and shuffled back to your car. Here's my itsy bitsy teenie weenie op-ed on all the jerks on cellphones we all encounter every day, from today's LA Times:

Every day, across Los Angeles, boors on cellphones drag us into their lives. We need to tell them our attention doesn’t belong to them. That their right to have loud, dull cellphone conversations ends where our ears begin.

Sometimes, I do this with a polite suggestion. Other times, I’m too irritated, either by the last 10 people telling me where to stick that suggestion, or by the need to instruct another adult, “Please use your inside voice.” That’s when I help them see a downside of overshare.

A woman at the Rose Café shouted her eyeglass order into her cell -- going into detail about her family’s medical plan (they have flexible spending, they’ll pay after the first of the year). After I blogged her conversation, including her phone number, she got calls from around the world: “Eva, your glasses are ready!” I’m guessing she has newfound respect for others’ profound disinterest in her life.

Barry sure does. He shouted his number across a Venice Starbucks. I went home and called it: “Barry, I know everything about you but your blood type.” Next time I saw him, he took his calls outside.

Maybe you’re too timid (or too sane) to do what I do, but please do something. Shush the rudesters. At least glare. Ask restaurants to post “no cellphones” signs.

Peace on earth might not be doable, but we could try for peace and quiet. For civility, not technology, to be our guide. Perhaps the manners of the future are best informed by our pre-wireless past. Think about it: There’s a reason nobody installed a phone booth right at table five.

This is just one of many modern rudenesses I cover in the book I'm writing, REVENGERELLA: One woman's battle to beat some manners into impolite society.