My smart phone is flipped off as I learn the Devil is in details

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Let the world note that the rebellion began here. And that I led the way. No, I am not talking about Libya or Syria or Yemen. I speak of freedom from the dictatorship of the The Wireless.

A few days ago I retired my smart phone with its cornucopia of goodies and reactivated my flip phone. To be sure, my Droid Erisa was a benevolent dictator, more like (I’m guessing now) a bossy wife than a real despot, but enough was enough.

Fondly did I recall the days when my flip phone was my only companion on my forays beyond the homestead. Easy to manage, never intrusive in whatever pocket I chose to place it, and rarely calling attention to itself, it was my boon companion on my drives Up North or destinations closer to home. It never forgot its sole but important mission — to keep me in touch with the folks who were important to me and needed to talk to me.

Then came the era of the smart phone with its weather reports, Internet mail, stock market updates, GPS assistance, texting, web browsing, and 50,000 Droid apps (when I heard Apple’s iPhone has 300,000 I felt deprived), private music stations, and virtually unlimited music storage.

Oh yes, there was a phone too, which had the annoying habit of turning on my music at inopportune times. Try listening to a sermon in church while Gladys Knight and the Pips do “Night Train to Georgia.” Or how about Bob Seger yelling about getting out of there and heading for Katmandu?

One day it dawned on me that electronics were taking over my life. How often did I have to check my email each day? Or the stock market? How about the weather? With a desktop and three laptops in the family, was it possible that I was overconnected to the rest of the world?

Gradually I began to view the smart little guy in my pocket as a tiny demon, chortling with glee every time he rang the phone and I forgot which pocket he was hiding in. His evilest laughs were reserved for those occasions when he made a pocket call and I had to explain to a friend (known as a contact in e-speak) that I really did not want to talk to him. You learn fast to fake it when you’ve neglected to call someone close for months or years.

So taking the little devil by the horns (so to speak), I headed over to the Verizon office and explained what I wanted. I was convinced that the smart young people there would look down their noses at one more old guy who couldn’t hack it (hack? Gads, even I talk e-speak nowadays). Instead they were polite and understanding, so pleasant in fact that I was tempted to try to convert them to my cause. But, no, they were too young to understand real freedom. Besides, they knew the Droid was as fine an instrument as there is out there, and I doubted they would accept my theory of demons and gremlins possessing the whole wireless world.

At any rate, the smug little devil now sits on a shelf at home, and I fantasize that Flip, my resuscitated old buddy, smiles condescendingly at him from time to time.

Meanwhile, I enjoy my new freedom. I will no doubt be known as the Paul Revere of the Age of the Web. I’ve sounded the warning. Others are bound to follow. I’ve already warned Flip to expect a flood of calls in support.

Of course, if it all goes south, I could go back to Verizon and reinstate Mr. Smarty-pants. It’s called an exit strategy.

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Stan Latreille is a novelist, blogger, lawyer, former newspaperman, and a retired Circuit Court judge. He is the author of "Perjury" and is working on a new novel, tentatively titled "Absolution."