Hello, Operator?

My understanding of the power of communication was turned upside down when I saw that episode of "Saved By the Bell".

Maybe you saw that one, too, where Mr. Zack Morris was in some sort of self-inflicted trouble, and needing to get out of it in the next twenty minute episode, he pulled out a cell phone.

About the size and weight of a brick, Zack's phone allowed him to make a call in the middle of Bayside High's hallway. He didn't even have to obtain an office phone pass. He could talk to whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted--all with his magical, communication brick.

"What is this wonder?" I thought. Just when I thought Zack Morris couldn't get any more popular or cool. . . .

My next experience with cell phone technology was when I started dating the boy next door. He had a cell phone. It was always with him, which meant I could always get ahold of him. We had a lot to talk about. And after three weeks of talking, he became my fiancee.

When we were married, he would call me from his car during his commute to school. I remember answering the phone in my cubicle (the one with the looooong cord) and hearing his voice over the loud roar of our car's powerful engine. He told me about his classes, his aced test, his old friend he ran into, and the ill-eduacted fellow drivers on the road with him. He told me he wished I was in the seat next to him. I loved that phone.

When we moved to graduate school, I got my first cell phone. He got a matching one. They doubled as a walkie talkies, and I could talk to him on his phone for as long as I wanted to, without any monetary penalties. I clipped my phone/walkie talkie on my belt, where it was always accessible. We had a monthly bill. I felt like a real adult.

Nine years and six cell phones later, my current phone is a whole new species. It has the date, the time, its battery life, its signal strength, and a picture of my offspring always visible. When you call my phone, your number and picture is displayed. I can kill zombies, solve word puzzles, check email, post my facebook status, buy things from amazon, text a grocery list, read a novel, photograph my children, edit images, watch my favorite movies, and listen to my favorite music--all with a phone that is small enough to fit in one hand.

The money for my yearly contract could be used to feed a small country.

But instead of viewing it as a communication wonder, I feel my cell phone is subpar--even if it does have a sparkly, bright pink case that snaps into place. Also, I think Zack Morris is a arrogant and irresponsible--even if he does have a nice smile and perfectly styled hair.

I want my phone to be drool proof and shock proof, have infinite battery life, reject phone calls I don't want to receive, be the size and weight of a credit card, never get lost, allow me to teleport my children to Grandma's, and make me look twenty pounds lighter.

My brother tells me that his cell phone puts mine to shame. He actually inherited my dad's old phone. Naturally, it is pre-programmed with my Dad's extensive, outdated contact list. My brother brags about how he can call neighbors who have been dead for several years. Their phone numbers are in his contact list, and all he has to do is push a button. "Do you have Mr. Smith's number?" He taunts. "Mrs. Smith would pay a small fortune for my phone."

Who's all Mrs. Fancy iPhone Pants now?