4 - Sunday. May 24, 1992 -

Cellular leap
taking us to
another level

THERE ARE some things
they don’t tell you about
cellulars.

Bob
Hunter

STRICTLY PERSONA

I've been enjoying the advan-
tages of cell phones for three
years now. I wasn’t quite a pio-
neer, but | was there near the
beginning.

In fact, | once interviewed
George Fierheller, the soft-spoken
genius-level chief executive officer
who was the main engineer behind
bringing cellular radios into th
private automobile, a critical
commercial stage before the total-
lv mobile units could be brought
to the mass market.

I] wrote a starry-cyed account of
George’s achievement, gushing on
about how amazing it was that a
guy sitting behind a desk at the
Cantel office in Kitsilano should
be masterminding a major global
communications revolution.

Make no bones about it, the
cellular leap was technologically
enormous. First of all, big.
heavy-duty mobile satellites
(°° M-Sats**) with immense trays of
receptors and transponders had ta
be in orbit in order to service the
ant-like scurryings of cell-cquip-
ped customers so far below.

Dazzling arrays of computer
hookups were, of course, involv-
ed. Plus a microchip industry.
Plus a microwave industry.

It was as cutting-edge high tech
as could possibly be imagined.

Today, if | saw George

Fierheller on the street, | would be

sorely tempted to clunk him on
the dome with my Motorola.

Then, after I'd helped him back
on his feet and dusted him off,
Vd thank him very much for all
the extra money J have earned,
thanks to the cellular revolution.

Ywouldn't give him a tip or a
commission, you understand,
because he and his colleagues
made a helluva lot more money
than | did out of the deal, so it’s
more than fair.

The reason for clunking George
first and only thanking him
afterwards would be for all those
accumulated hours spent on hold
on my cellular, not just waiting
for a switchboard connection to
20 through, but paying by the
minute as I wait, which adds a
whole new level of stress.

That’s Reason One.

Reason Two is for all the times
the cell connection went dead just
after one of those long periods on
hold had finally ended.

(Hi, Mr. Hunter, sorry to
have kept you waiting so long.
Now, what can I do—"’ Beep.
Zap. Dead sound. Only my ear
ringing. Followed by muffled
Hunteresque scream.)

m Three.
'y bad neck and out-of-place
ribs. No joke. I've got *cell-
neck” and ‘‘cell-spine."’

Hadn't heard those words be-
fore, eh? Wait until you've been
tilting your head sideways for a
couple of years to hold the
cellular between your neck and
your shoulder while you take
notes.

When | ght my first cellular,
nobody thought to include a book
on celiular etiquette. No, this does
not simply mean whether one
ought to leave the cell on during
Junch at a decent restaurant just
because you're expecting an im-
portant long-distance conference
call.

Or even whether it’s kosher to
bring the thing with you toa
cocktail party.

Now | personally don't spend a
whole lot of time at cocktail par-
ties, but every once in a while
there’il be some event f happen to
have to catch, and somehow it
always works out that I'm waiting
for a call that I just have to take.

One moment you are deep imto
serious conversation, eyeball con-
tact, the whole thing, when the
damned cell rings.

Mine is attached to a shoulder
strap, you see, so it’s always han-
dy. The look on the face of the
person being interrupted by a
phone is always telling.

Suddenty, instead of talking to
them, I'm talking to someone else
who's miles away (who didn’t
even pay to get in!>, the effect be-
ing rather like a totaily rude idiot
cutting into the middle of a con-
versation without so much as an
**Excuse me, but..."’ And me go-
ing along with it.

So. Manners. Nowadays J turn
the beast off when entering into
private or personal time. | kill it
before sitting down in a restau-

the OFF before entering a
theatre, of course, and on the rare
occasions when I'm in a bus, |
likewise disconnect.

People on buses glare at you,
especially if it’s long distance and
you're shouting,

Generally, in any situation
where I'm invading dozens of
people's privacy at once, f tend to
break off contact with the M-Sat
beam, or whatever it is that brings
all those voices from around the
world into my ear.

In the early days, | also made
the mistake of taking the cell with
ine into places where neither God
nor George Fierheller intended
cells to go, such as the men’s
room.

One day I was in such haste
that I combined a visit to the
throne with one of those always-
important calls.

As U flushed the toilet, an in-
dignant voice squawked in my

ou S.0.B., don't tell me
you've been having a dump while
I'm talking to yout!!""

So either don't do that or don’t
flush. I know, it depends on how
busy you are and how long the
conversation lasts. Same thing
goes, by the way, guys, for
urinals.

I remember sitting across the
room from a television producer,
a woman who was famous for be-
ing compulsively communicative
on the phone.

She was calling her husband
long-distance on their anniversary
to proudly let him know that
she'd rented a cellular on the
credit card, wasn't that neat?

Even from across the room, |
could hear the poor guy bellow-
ing.

At least he’s got no illusions,
thought J. He knows he's caught
betwe rock and a hard cell.

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