Pocket and purse dial outdone by the toddler dial
Lori Borgman finds the funny in everyday life, writing from the heartland of the US. Now, if she could just find her car keys…
The top two inadvertent cell phone calls are the pocket dial and the purse dial. I’d like to add a third – the I’m-carrying-in-groceriesand-my-phone-is-under-my-chin dial. I’ve called a neighbour so many times while carrying in groceries, it’s a wonder she doesn’t ask me to take her out of my phone – or stop going to the store so often.
Recently, we’ve been recipients of the toddler dial. I answer the phone and there’s nothing but muffled breathing, the sort that happens when you’re a toddler with a cold and no ability or interest in blowing your own nose.
“Hello, Sweetie. Did you mean to call Grandma? She loves when you call!”
Sweetie doesn’t have much to say. He’s just breathing. “Hello? Sweetie? Say something.” Sweetie giggles then burst into maniacal laughing.
Why not? The kid’s in possession of his dad’s cell phone, pushing buttons like crazy, listening to adults shout, “Hello? Hello? Hello?” and the grownups who birthed him, don’t have a clue what he’s up to. Score one for the toddler. Then comes a thud and clatter as the phone hits the floor, probably disappearing into a mound of plastic dinosaurs. Maybe they’ll find the phone when someone needs a T. rex.
Sweetie calls back and breathes some more.
“I like talking to you, Sweetie, but Grandma is busy,” I say. “Why don’t you take the phone to Daddy?” Cute kid. I hang up. Sweetie calls again. One toddler dial is cute, two toddler dials are fine, three toddler dials border on telemarketing. “Take the phone to your Dad. NOW!” The toddler dial is on a par with a mother of a toddler calling you about something and abruptly screaming, “Nooooo! I have to go!” and hanging up.
You hope it’s not a broken bone or involves a lot of bleeding. You don’t exactly go on about business as usual because you’re wondering if the little one is on the way to the ER. You’d call back but maybe she’s still on the phone with paramedics. Maybe she’s driving the kid to the hospital herself.
The mother of the toddler finally calls back and says it was “nothing”. Someone dumped one of those half-ton size bags of Veggie Straws.
“Nothing” just took six months off my life.
Meanwhile I decide to call Sweetie with the stuffed up nose back, hoping
I answer the phone and there’s nothing but MUFFLED BREATHING on the OTHER END, the sort that happens when you’re a TODDLER with a cold and no ability or interest in blowing your own nose
to speak to someone in charge. No luck. Clearly, Sweetie is still in charge and is now screening calls from irritable Grandma.
Later that evening my daughter-inlaw calls and says, “I see we missed a couple of calls from you earlier. Everything OK?”
“Great,” I say. “Just wanted to make sure all of you were still alive and breathing.”