One afternoon about 10 years ago, my bike wiped out on a muddy trail. I tried to wipe the mud off my arms and legs, but I had that ultra-chic quasi-homeless look that alienates shopkeepers.

I went to a bookstore, not to buy Anybody’s Bike Book, but to use the phone.

“Do you have a pay phone?”

“Nope.”

I sighed deeply.  Before everything got weird, and I found myself rushing to the bus stop next to the dead mall, where the kind bus driver, assuming I was homeless, would refuse to accept my bus token, I smiled my best matron smile at the booksellers.

 “Could I use your phone?”

They were suspicious.  They conferred.  “Are you going to call long-distance?

“No, you see, my bike has a flat tire. I want to call my husband.”

They exchanged looks.  “Really, my bike’s out there,” I pleaded. “Come look outside.  It’s in the bike rack.”

They would not look at my bike, but insisted on dialing my husband’s number for me.  I didn’t care.  Let them dial!  Anyway, they stayed and listened to my phone call.  Clearly I was talking about a flat tire.  They dispersed.

You ask, “Now wouldn’t that have been easier with a cell phone?”

Not necessarily. Those screens seem too small to me.

But phones come in handy for trivia. Sometimes when we’re outdoors, we really, really need to know everything about Joel McCrea. Some look at the trees; we look at Wikipedia.

Can’t we have cell phones and pay phones?  Why did the one have to cancel the other?