Conquering Vertigo

7-digit dialing

Perhaps I'm still in the honeymoon phase. Perhaps this is just deep, deep love. Each day dawns with delight and a kind of soul-filling happiness that the writer of Jude terms "joy inexpressible."

And then there are the small pleasures, such as 7-digit dialing. In San Francisco, if you're calling another SF # from a local land line or cell phone, you just dial the actual phone number, leaving off the area code.

The world used to be like this, only more so. I'm just old enough to remember - as a young child living in a small town - dialing just the last four digits. Forget area codes, think about phone numbers such as 867-5309. (Yes, pop culture sneaks into the blog as insidiously as MSG sneaks into our food.) Your "exchange" was the first three numbers, in this case 867, and it definied a geographic area as a subset of the larger area code which might encompass the entire state.

So, if you were dialing not just within your state or town, but within your own exchange, you merely picked up the phone and dialed (not pushed nor punched but dialed, tick tick tick tick tick) 5309 and said, Jenny, don't lose that number! Or honey, bring home some milk. Or Mildred, did you see what Jenny was wearing? I declare to my time...

But styrophoam and msg took over dining, ranting and raving took over thoughtful dialog, ten-digit dialing took over phone calls even in your own neighborhood, and America's going to hell in a handbasket.

Except for San Francisco. Where the little people still vote and decide elections, where fresh fruit can be purchased and eaten the same day, where a Chinese woman you've never met asks for your opinion about the pillows she's buying for her bed, where the Muslim man with the long beard puts his own quarter in your parking meter because you didn't have enough change, and where 7 numbers is still enough to call your husband at work.

posted by Woman In Love @ 7:08 AM