Telephonophobia

I'm afraid of telephones.

Let me clarify: I’m not particularly afraid of the actual physical devices themselves, but of having to use them. It’s been like that as long as I can remember. I get this knot in my stomach every time a phone rings, even if its not my phone or somebody else answers it. I can't stand to pick up the phone, or have a conversation on it for longer than five minutes, and don't even ask me to call somebody I don't know or haven't called before. I can’t, I freeze up. My friends and acquaintances are confused to learn that, despite the fact that I can talk your ear off if we are having a conversation in person, I’m generally monosyllabic on the phone and have to be coaxed to talk at any length.

So the phone and I have a troubled relationship, but that hasn’t stopped it from creeping up into all aspects of my life, no matter where I go. In high school there was even a phone in my bedroom, though I never used it. It was connected to the phone line we used for our dial-up internet, so its presence was more to give an illusion of popularity and social capability than for any actual purpose. However, due to some sick joke on the part of my parents, the phone number for this line was listed in the phonebook under my name, resulting in telemarketers calling my bedroom and asking for me personally, even though I was just sixteen.

On one memorable occasion, an aggressive man was pitching an upgrade in long-distance service to me. I tried weakly to deflect him, but he was not to be denied. He kept insisting that it was a free service and all I had to do was authorize it. Finally I gave in, unable to stand up under the constant barrage of his refined sales technique. I’ve purchased several things in recent years (subscriptions to newspapers and magazines, those student discount cards, etc.) for precisely the same reason. I’ve always had a hard time saying no.

At any rate, the sale guy says he needs some information to seal the deal. So I give him my name and address, and then he asks if I am over eighteen. I responded that I was not. Apparently, you had to be legal to authorize the long-distance plan. I was relieved to discover this, for I assumed it meant the end of the conversation, but I was mistaken.

“Are you sure you’re not over eighteen?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Are you Mr. Matthew Haws? Isn’t this your phone number?”

“Yes, but I’m under eighteen. Its my parent’s phone line, its just in my name.”

“Are they home?”

“No.” They were, but I was sick of this guy.

“Well, that’s ok. What we’ll do is authorize this service for you anyway.”

“Oh….”

“So, here’s what’s going to happen. A representitive from our company will be calling you back in a few minutes” (I begin to panic) “to authorize your fabulous new long-distance plan. They’ll ask you a few questions, and you just tell them you are over eighteen, and we’ll be good to go.”

“But I’m not over eighteen.”

“Yes, but you just need to tell them that you are so they can process the upgrade.”

“What?” Awkward pause. “I’m not eighteen.”

“I know,” the man said, impatiently, “but just tell them that you are.”

I was quiet for a very long time. “Hello? Hello??” the man said. I hung up. It was one of the more courageous things I’ve done in my life.

As difficult as calls to strangers or from telemarketers are, sometimes calling a friend can be just as bad. As a teenager, it once took me more than an hour to summon up the courage to call up a friend from school, just because I had never called his house before. I may laugh about that now, but I currently have a friend who I avoid calling simply because he’s almost never home and I find it awkward to leave a message.

With this antipathy towards phones in general, you can imagine my feelings when the cell phone craze hit the mainstream. It’s bad enough I had to put up with the dang things at home, but to carry one around with me all day? I could imagine nothing more worrisome and potentially terrifying. I came up with a excessive number of reasons for my dislike of cell phones and refusal to purchase one: they are annoying, they are a potential distraction and cause of accidents in a car, they can cause cancer, etc. But in all reality, when I look back, the underlying reason behind my anti-cell phone phase was purely my fear of talking on the phone.

Well those who know me at all now can tell you that I did end up getting a phone. I became so busy during several of my semesters at college that I was never home and never could be reached by anybody. After not getting a few important calls from directors and stage managers, I realized I needed to cut these people a break and give them a way to find me. So it was with great trepidation that I went with my friend, who is now my roommate, to buy a phone. It wasn’t long, however, before my determined reluctance melted away in the face of glowing LED lights, color screens, classical music ringtones, and all the features that come with the modern cellular phone. I’m a sucker for electronic gadgets, and suddenly I saw a cell as a potential toy, and not just a phone. That helped.

By the way, in England they call cell phones “mobile phones,” if you were wondering.

So the phone and I have begun a phase of reconciliation. This is not because I’m no longer intimidated by them; far from it. Every time I am required to use the phone in anyway outside what I’m used to I experience a moment of panic. My boss at work says, “Matt, I need you to call our office in California and ask them….” Panic. My cell phone rings and a number I don’t recognize appears on the screen. Panic. While writing this blog entry, my roommate called to ask if I would call up a business in Provo and ask them how late they were open and where they were located. Panic.

The trick, for me, has not been getting rid of the anxiety, but simply dealing with it. I take a deep breath, and tell myself that I’m an attractive, confident individual who can make phone calls without thinking twice about it. I don’t really believe myself, because I know I’m a shameless flatterer. I dial the number once or twice, then put the phone to my ear, my teeth set in grim determination, my fingers drumming furiously on my thigh, my whole body shaking in quiet terror.