I remember feeling like a bit of a holdout when I refused to get a cell phone until 2001. My stepmom thwarted me that Christmas when she gave me a brand-new Nokia. "Welcome to the 21st century," she said wryly as I opened it, and then she handed me a prepaid minutes card. I was stuck.
Eric, on the other hand, has managed to quietly outlast all his friends and loved ones who swore they would never be tied to such a stupid thing, and we have respected him for it. Sure, every few months there's some logistical problem that could be solved in 10 seconds if I could just #$%@ing get hold of him, but as far as he's concerned, he's never truly needed one.
While the rest of us were dithering about where everyone else might be, if they maybe wanted to change plans at the last minute, and blah blah blah blah blah, Eric was off blissfully taking three-hour bike rides, immune to anyone else's ideas of what he should be doing. He still drops by places unannounced. He still shows up at times and places agreed upon hours or even days before.
But last week I pointed out that while we're looking at houses, and especially since I'll be working so much while we're doing it, we should really be able to reach each other if something comes up.
I felt a little regretful during this conversation, like I was asking the last of a species of great, proud beasts to voluntarily crawl into a circus car. But he was amenable, and today he went to one of those Cricket outlets and got the cheapest phone they have.
He swears he's not giving the number to anyone but me and the Realtor, and he says he's canceling the service and donating the phone the second we move. I don't know of a single person who's gotten rid of theirs once they finally succumbed, but if anyone will, it's Eric.