Look, I know everyone is sick to death of hearing about my cell phone jammer escapades. I’ve been told, so you don’t have to deny it. But just this one more and then I’ll shut up.
Last evening a gentleman sitting in front of me on the train home met with some erratic cell phone service (as so many do, who sit in my proximity). He cursed Verizon, his carrier. His seat was the type that could accommodate three people and he had the whole seat to himself. Every time his call was dropped, he would slide to a different part of the seat—first the bulkhead, then the aisle, then the middle—thinking the service was better just a foot or two away and place his call again.
As you can imagine, his service never improved. In a last desperate attempt to carry on his meaningless conversation, he laid down across the seat on his stomach and held his head over the edge of the seat, certain that the strongest signal was to be found near the floor of the train. It was so funny!
I’m know mean. Please forgive me.