The Phone Thing

By Kerry Schafer

My mistrust of phones goes a long way back. I remember a time when I would walk a good thirty minutes to schedule a hair appointment, in person, because I didn't want to pick up the phone. When I worked as a nurse (long ago and in a completely different life) I used to fabricate a reason to duck into a patient's room whenever the phone started ringing. To be honest, I'll still do this. Let somebody else answer it, someone who doesn't experience a twist of anxiety in their belly at the thought of picking up the receiver.

Who knows what childhood incident planted the seed of phone phobia that has lingered with me all these years? I can't recall anything particularly traumatic, but then life is often messy and senseless, completely unlike a novel, in which a character with this problem would have a clear and logical reason for her aversion.

In some ways, this Phone Thing, as I call it, makes total sense to me. When the damned thing rings, I have no idea who is on the other end. Yes, I have caller ID. Yes, I screen my calls accordingly. But still. Just because the Caller ID says it's Billy Joe Bob calling, I have no reason to know this is true. Maybe somebody stole Billy Joe Bob's phone. Maybe they murdered him first, and are coming after me next. Maybe Billy Joe Bob has recently taken to using drugs, and is calling in a methamphetamine fueled psychotic rage. Even if the caller is who he says he is, I don't know what else is going on because I can't see. He could be sitting in a room full of unnaturally silent people who are mocking me in secret, or he could be holding a gun to his head with every intention of blowing himself away at any moment. Unless he chooses to tell me I will never know.

So if you have a weird aversion to phones, what do you choose to do as your life work? Mental Health Crisis Response, naturally. This job ensures that I am pretty much glued to a phone 24/7. Heck, why stop at one phone. Let's try for two or three.

Here's me all ready for work in the morning:


Yep. I go out loaded for bear. And yes, I have had one phone to each ear on several occasions. When I'm on call weekends and evenings, I carry both of these phones with me. Everywhere. At any moment either of them might ring, and when they do it's not going to be an agent calling to offer me representation, or somebody letting me know that I've just won a million dollars. Nope. When the phone rings at 1 am, or in the middle of dinner, or when I'm in line at the grocery store, it's going to be Dispatch, or the hospital, or the jail, or a member of law enforcement, and what they want is for me to leave whatever it is I'm doing and come deal with a crisis.

I should insert the part here that I do understand this is my job, and I actually do often love my work. But the phones, they make me twitch.

In addition to the cell phones, there is this baby in my office:

Nope. It is not a thing of beauty. It lurks. It messes with my head.

The Viking just shakes his head as he watches me jerk and twitch each time the phone rings. "Easy, honey," he says. "It's just a phone."

Right. To ordinary, well adjusted folks, it is.

I find ways to cope. Every few months I change the ring on my On Call cell, to minimize the cumulative impact of that one particular ring. My home phone lives in the garage where I can sort of hear it if I'm paying attention, but where it's easy to ignore. Important people will leave a message. And if I'm feeling energetic and sort of brave, I might just call them back.