In very early spring, I lost my cell phone, my second or third flip phone. The first cell phone I owned, I shared with Jared. We were living in Philadelphia and moving to the big sophisticated world of New York City around 2003 or so.
I bought my own flip phone a couple years after we left the city. Jared and I had both become gainfully employed as land stewards. I was working at an especially small land trust, and I was frequently alone in the woods.
I spent my days on and off trails, roaming with a GPS and paper map (no compass, I'm pretty awful with one, but I bet if I had worked in a more remote location, I would have learned), looking for invasive species. I sometimes had a companion, a volunteer named Chris who went to school for forestry, spent many decades in a different industry, but all the while remained an avid hiker. He was good with a GPS. He even helped me find a lost GPS in a sliver of wooods about 150' by 700' and between a road and a meadow. On Fridays, Jared often joined me on my invasive species surveys. We explored Hopewell Township, and I was glad for company, another fellow good with directions.
Without Jared or Chris, I had my GPS and at some point my flip phone. I would not advise anyone to rely on a battery powered device for directions, especially in the wilderness, but for me, I was able to call Jared and tell him, "I'm taking the red trail at Baldpate." Someone would know where I was.
I never met any weirdos. Never got too turned around. Never had an herbicide spill when I was doing invasive species control work. I was stung by a wasp in the *ss and had a bad reaction, but I was with a group of volunteers. That turned out ok - my face and palms remained swollen and itchy only for a few hours.
While at my land steward job, I only used my cell phone once for an "emergency" - I called my whole care provider when a branch of poison ivy smacked me so hard in the nose, the skin broke.
Jared, Beren, and I searched for my lost cell phone for about a week. The trail was cold. Somewhere, the phone is likely housing a few sowbugs beneath its plastic shelter.
I replaced the worn flip phone with another flip phone.
A"gangsta" phone, my young twenty-some sister-in-law calls flip phones. She once told me, "I think I want to get one and get rid of this thing." She sighed as she waved her smart phone around.
I have heard that human skeletons can reveal much of what occupied the bones before their former owner's skin fell away and bones dried out. Skeletons in the tri-state area will likely show a crooked left arm.
No, they weren't violinists. They were advanced cell phone users, constantly carrying their cell phone in their left hand at chest to waist high in case someone might call. When not carrying their phone and a table is available, the skeleton/person's phone is on the table within fingers reach. That crooked arm hovering over the screen in case someone might call.
I mean, text. No one makes phone calls, except me, apparently. At least two of my girlfriends agree that I am the only one they know who uses a phone for voice communication.
I acknowledge that I am part of another generation, or at least I choose to. I hopscotch between one and another generation, really. I still refer to myself as a "young person", thought I clearly look older than others who I refer to as "young people".
Those young people know how to use technology I don't. I read about half of Aziz Ansari's book Modern Love, and while I enjoyed parts and found humor in it, I couldn't relate. I had a very different experience dating.
For now, my gangsta phone serves me well. I am the phone's master, the phone doesn't master me. My back and arms are crooked for other reasons. We'll see what stories my skeleton tells.