phoning it in
PHONE CALLS ARE NO GOOD BY ELEANOR ROBERTSON
hate the phone. I yearn for the day that talking on the phone, at least for pleasure, is considered a quaint Victorian hobby along the lines of croquet and tightlaced corseting. It was only necessary before we invented texting; now there’s really no reason to call someone unless you’re trying to collect a debt from them. In my average week, I probably make two or three phone calls: one to confirm an appointment, one to call ahead and check something’s at a shop before I actually visit in person, and one to tell someone my precise physical location when a screenshot of my GPS dot on a map isn’t accurate enough. “I’m next to the chemist, round
