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Or: How I learned to just close my eyes and hold my breath every day when I drive down Blossom Street

By James D. McCallister

Why pussy foot around? Here’s the news:

Hang up and drive, that’s what I say. Live it, learn it, be it. But under penalty of law, if necessary? Maybe so.

Settle down, Libertarians. I already know what you rabble rousing dead-enders are thinking. (Kidding. I voted for Ron Paul way back in ’88—no shit!) But, yeah, on this one issue, you’ve got me pegged: Crusading newspaper columnist decides to advocate and encourage our esteemed state legislature to pass yet another law, yet another infringement on our already enervated, gasping-for-breath freedoms, right? Yes.

I’m for a hands-free cell phone law. ASAP.

And not because I’m for another restriction on what we are taught to perceive as freedom. I’m not calling for a law that offers a new encroachment upon some vague notion of natural rights, but instead a law designed to foment and inform an atmosphere that will be about one issue and one issue only: freedom from insanity.

Insanity. I said it. I stand by it. You people are nuts yapping on those phones while you barrel up and down the byways of our fair city. But worse: You are a hazard to the general safety of your fellow citizenry.

Now listen, fellow babies, I seek not to inflame passions or unduly impugn anyone’s driving ability, but I must say that, quite apart from my normal predilection for hyperbole (yes yes, they are adjusting my meds accordingly), I think it is absolutely crazy to tool around in city traffic—or otherwise at a hundred and ten per, out on the shimmering, white freeway slab—with one hand tied behind your back, so to speak.

Lookit, I’m no saint. I have only just now taken a vow of no cell phone calls while in transit, but I indeed now make this sacred compact with myself, my passengers, and my fellow motorists. Made it, I have. (Is this me? Is this a small, green CGI man of wisdom? Tell you I will one day, young Padewon learner.)

Walking through the neighborhood on a daily basis, I carefully observe passing motorists, one after another engaged in ostensibly important telephone conversations that, no matter the innocuous nature of the content, nevertheless require at least a modicum of concentration. (That you can’t apply to your fellow motorists, hint hint.)

On some days, I feel as though I’ve seen it all: The other morning, I watched a young lady holding her phone with one hand while waving a cigarette around with the other, engaged in gregarious verbal intercourse, and steering by means unknown; just last week I saw with my own astounded eyes a gent motoring past the gurgling fountain who appeared to be steering with his elbows, and not because he was chatting it up with Grandma, but rather…

Because he was text-messaging.

Uh-huh. Thumbs just a workin’ away. No kidding. Texting and driving. (My proposed regulation just got more complicated, I think.) Like I said: Crazy, dude.

Forget my anecdotal experience. Just think about it—how many times have you had a close shave because someone was not paying attention behind the wheel?

How many times have you been guilty of such behavior yourself?

To wit: A year or two ago I nearly had my own stupid accident one evening when I was tear-assing down Elmwood. I was about to merge left onto the Huger Street ramp when my cell phone blew up in the seat next to me, and I glanced over at the device just as I signaled and drifted over. I didn’t recognize the number, so instead of answering, I looked back up—only to see a line of vehicles stopped dead in front of me. Stopped. In the middle of the freeway. Yikes.

I shrieked with a torrent of aggrieved invective, jammed on the brakes, and watched as the broken-down folks up ahead turned a whiter shade of pale at the burning and screeching of my tires. The phone continued to blare its clever fanfare (at the time, the theme from F-Troop), but I ignored my device for sure, now, if for no other reason than I was shaking too badly to pick it up.

So, look, I don’t want more rules and regulations, not really. But a statewide law calling for hands-free cell phone use in a moving vehicle would in my opinion do little damage to our already fading personal freedom—but it might possibly save someone from acquiring a dented fender, or perhaps a fate much worse than a mere traffic accident.

Arrive alive, as they say—and hanging up, I think, is a step in the right direction.