28 May 2007

Isn't that what the daybag is for?


I don't doubt you are all important executives, busy saleswomen, on-the-go Congressional assistants and at-their-beck-and-call multitasking mistresses.

I'm not trying to downplay the urgency behind your need to answer that Palm Pilot even before the first note of "Let me blow your mind" bursts through the small speaker at top-volume.

And believe me, I know well the sheer panic involved with trying to extricate the world's most important phone call from the world's most crowded one-chamber tote.

But can't we set aside practicality one more time and please, please not let the leather-encased belt-clipped cell phone trend become an accepted part of female professional dress?

We're polished women in pinstriped suits, high-waisted skirts and simple sophisticated pumps. We write academic articles, court decisions, advertising pitches and national security briefings. We have lace-surrounded breasts, shiny well-managed hair and tended-to cuticles. We're ladies, ladies, so let's please ditch the accessory that makes us look like we've arrived ready to start teaching a Saturday afternoon workshop in aisle five on how to waterproof your deck.

What to do, then? Well, do what I do and either carry your precious phone in your hand or place it in the small pocket even the largest of the large daybag always has for this very purpose. After living in China for two years and experiencing just how awful life without any kind of cell phone etiquette can be, I always opt for the more respectful vibrate option. By placing the side of my daybag with the pocket in which my phone is stored closest to my person and by choosing the most vigorous of the five vibration settings on my Treo, I am always fully aware if not a little excitedly so depending on how long the straps on that particular bag are, when someone is trying to get a hold of me.

Just as I was able to convince you to go for cute flats instead of sneakers on your walk to work, to ditch the denim shirt and to burn the khakis, let me aid you in the arena of cell phone transportation as well.

Please, join me in boycotting this trend before it reaches the point - as it has with men - where there's no feasible way to stop the epidemic.

11 comments:

Anonymous said...

You're at work? Shouldn't you be poolside in a bikini--reading some French novelist?

Johanna said...

Unfortunately, yes.

And as you can probably tell from the frequency with which I'm commenting today, it's been a struggle to stay focused.

But at least I got to wear a cute sundress I never could have gotten away with on a normal work day!

at work 2 said...

Lucky security guards.

Johanna said...

"at work 2" -
Aw, sweet. Why don't we ditch our respective desks right at 5 and meet for a drink? I didn't wear this sundress and earn this hot tan for nothin'.

west coast devotee said...

'aw2': on behalf of all men who'd love to be in your shoes, you've gotta accept the lady's request. She likes beer - does that help?

at work 2 said...

A delightful offer. But I'm one of your out-of-town admirers, stuck in midtown Manhattan on Memorial Day. Found your blog through Wonkette last week, and now it's a guilty pleasure...emphasis on "pleasure." Thanks anyway.

Johanna said...

Sad face :-(

Anonymous said...

A shame. Real shame.

at work 2 said...

Yes.A sad face in Manhattan, too.

Anonymous said...

I'm gonna shake things up and actually comment on the post at hand.

Thank GOD someone finally brought this up. I can't stand those little cell phone holsters! They completely take away from an outfit, man or woman's.

I think people use them to show off their gadgets, not because it's more practical. I work with a guy who keeps three (yes, THREE) different phones on his belt. It's the modern-day way to deal with a Napoleon complex.

west coast devotee said...

If I had been in midtown Manhattan, I would've carjacked a Civic (with gas prices these days, you have to be smart about these things), driven 120 to get to you by 6:30 and taken you out for whatever your little tummy desired at the nearest Popeye's.

You're worth chalking up a second felony and the price of a bucket of chicken, schweet-haht.