Remember the olden days, when all you had to do with a phone was answer it? It was colorful – avocado green, gold, red or black – with a spiral cord attaching the receiver to the base. It hung on the wall or sat on a cabinet.

When it rang – and it was always the same ring, no train whistles or typewriters clicking or drum rolls – you just walked over, picked it up and said, “Hello?” Or, “Hello, this is the Fisher residence” if you were one of those people.

It was so simple, and yet so complex. The only way to make it stop ringing was to unplug it or turn it off on the bottom. There was no “mute” button. Or “sleep” cycle that would turn off the ringer automatically every night.

Answering the phone was an adventure because you had no way of knowing who was calling. If you were mad at your sister-in-law and didn’t want to talk to her, you just had to avoid answering the phone entirely, which you couldn’t do, because you were waiting for the plumber to call and tell you when he could come and fish the Barbie head out of your toilet.

If you were expecting an important call, you were often frustrated, because someone else in the household would be using the phone to discuss that week’s episode of “The Jeffersons.” At length.

“Get off the phone! Tad might call!” you’d finally bellow, and the person you were griping at might not comply, sending you into paroxysms of agony.

When the phone rang in the middle of the night, you never wanted to wake up and answer it, but it could be someone telling you that Uncle Elmer finally just died, so you grabbed the receiver in your sleep and grumbled “Yes?”

The advent of answering machines made this easier because you could just screen the call, and if it was your drunken neighbor telling you he lost his key and could he sleep on your sofa, you could just go back to sleep.

Answering machines did make life easier, unless you were trying to leave a message for someone without actually having to talk to them, and then they picked up the receiver unexpectedly,

“Oh, hi, Aunt Hattie. I just wanted you to know what time the baby shower is. I don’t have time to listen to your long rambling complaints right now about how your sister disrespected you in 1934.”

Of course, you had to remember to turn the answering machine on, and occasionally change the tape. I once wrote an entire play that took place on an answering machine, back when I mistakenly thought I could write plays.

Turns out, actually, that I couldn’t. But I did like that one, it involved a woman walking back in the door after a Mexican vacation and turning on her answering machine, only to get a series of messages that culminated in her boyfriend breaking up with her. I don’t understand why I never became Tennessee Williams.

The other problem with answering machines was that you tended to leave stupid messages on them after a romantic breakup. And then you would realize the message was stupid, so you would call back and try to correct it. And then realize the correction was even more stupid….and so forth. Eventually, you would just have to drive over to the person’s house, use the key under the mat and erase all the voice messages, hoping that none of them were actually important. And hoping that you didn’t run into your ex as you were leaving. This actually happened to me, and then became an episode of every long-running sitcom ever. I want royalties.

Then everyone got voicemail, which was useful except you had to remember a lot of codes and stuff. “OK, which was the code to save that message? Oh, oops. I guess that one just erased it.”

If you call me on my work phone right now, I will never get your message, because I don’t remember my password or how to pick it up. You’d better just email me instead.

The thing that stinks about voicemail is that it paved the way for banks and insurance companies to never, ever answer your call again. “Your call is very important to use. Please stay on the line.” Yeah. Just try calling the Social Security office. You’ll be on hold until the Rapture comes.

Then, of course, everyone got mobile phones and, eventually, started using texting as a primary source of communication. I have a few friends who don’t text, but I never talk to them. Because they don’t text.

Nowadays, young people don’t even answer their phone calls, they just want you to text them. People lament this, but it’s OK with me. We can just make an appointment to talk on the phone.

I like having a smartphone. It’s nice to get a call in line at Target and know that I don’t have to answer because it’s just my nosy neighbor wanting to tell me that my son is outside watering the lawn in his underwear. Yes, I know my son goes outside in his underwear. We discuss it regularly. Short of buying a taser, there’s nothing I can really do about it. But thanks for calling.

Even though phones are more complicated today, I like being able to conduct my business on mine. I only go to the bank now twice a year. I have separate ringtones for everyone I know, so I can tell if I have to answer right away or not.

I just wish it came in avocado green.

Related links

Frumpy Middle-aged Mom: Unexpected phone calls rarely deliver good news
Frumpy Middle-Aged Mom: Phone calls you hope you’ll never get – Deseret News
Frumpy Mom: Yet another amazing phone call!
Frumpy Mom: Yes, I got one of those phone calls again
Frumpy Middle-aged Mom: How not to be disappointed

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