My name is Juliet B.

My name is Juliet B. and I am an addict.  

I am addicted to my phone.  Seriously.  Though I'll attempt to find some humor in it.

For those of you who know me, this may not come as a shock.  And whether you know me personally or not, you might think, "What's the big deal? Every person you see is one his or her phone all the time."  True.  But yesterday, I had a few minor epiphanies, and I thought I'd share them.  Maybe they will give you insight into your own phone use (abuse?) as well.  Or just open a window into mine.

I live in a New Jersey suburb, but I had to commute into Manhattan for a seminar downtown. I packed for a 45 minute train ride and a 10 minute subway ride, as I have many times, with my wallet, my iPad, a small note book, my new Bose headphones (not tiny earbuds any more... going for the superior sound quality and comfort), a train schedule, a water bottle, a pencil case filled with pens, pencils, & sharpies, my camera, and a few other things, including, my iPhone, SO I THOUGHT.

It's a very short drive to the train station, and when I got there, I locked the car, and bought my ticket for the train and sat down to send a few texts to my husband and son.  I left them each  $50 and wanted to make sure they knew it.  I rummaged around my fairly sizable pocketbook* for my phone and couldn't find it right away.  With the train coming in 2 minutes, I figured I'd wait until I was on the train and seated to really look for it.

Settled into my spot by the window, I began to look in earnest for my phone. It wasn't the first time this has happened.  It's a big bag. Out came the wallet, the iPad, the notebook, my new headphones, camera, reading glasses, sunglasses, water bottle... getting near the bottom now... oh, look, those ginger mints I got at Sea-Tac airport...hand cream, lip balm (a mild panic is setting in as I start sifting through the small stuff), loose change, the missing button from my suede jacket...no phone yet.  I look in the pocket compartments of the bag. Nope. I check my own pockets again. I check the outer lining of the pocketbook, as if an invisible rip could have appeared. Nothing. 

A sick feeling was rising up.

I forgot my phone. I must have left it on the dining room table.  

As I replaced the contents of my bag, I looked out the window of the train. I'm now two stops away from home. I could disembark, wait for the next train, go home, get the phone take the next train and I'd just be late for the seminar.  No, that's not right.  I could call my husband, ask him to bring the phone to the next stop on the train jump out, get the... no, I can't call him, and he's probably gone to work.  I could go home, get the phone, drive to New York, pay to park, maybe be on time, maybe hit a ton of traffic in either direction... or maybe I can go one day with no phone.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I have to.

The first thing that happened is I started to think about all the things I could not do.  I could not do what I always do on the train, which is text people, check my email, play sudoku, scrabble, and check the return trains on the NJ Transit app.  

As I mentioned, I do have an iPad, but I have the type which requires wifi.  I am my own personal hot spot. (I know how that sounds, but I pay a little extra to AT&T and through some voodoo magic, my iPhone makes me a wifi  hotspot.)  My iPad does have a book on it, and I decided to read.  I took it out and read a few pages, and then actually took a nap on the train.  So, for those of you waiting for the silver lining in this tail of woe, that was it.  I slept on the train.  

Part of my plan was to grab breakfast in town before the seminar, so I looked for a place with free wifi (which in NY is pretty easy) and while eating my omelet I sent off messages to some of the people on my list with whom I had hoped to connect.   "No phone, talk to you later."  "In the city today with no phone, home tonight."  To my son, I typed where I was going to be all day, in case of an emergency.  (He later said he hadn't seen that email, but it gave me peace of mind at the time.)  

I pictured my iPhone on the dining room table buzzing and ringing all day.  Poor little ignored thing.  No one to Tweet with it.  No one checking Instagram regularly.  No one looking at email and Facebook.  All those missed texts.  And the calls I was missing!  I could not stop thinking about that.  

As I walked through New York to my seminar, I was not noticing the beautiful day.  I was not people-watching, or smiling at the parents with their kids, or the dog-owners with their dogs.  I wasn't even noticing fun shoes or great architecture like I usually do.  I was still thinking about my phone, and the things that I hadn't done, follow-up work calls I hadn't made, emails I hadn't sent, texts that had to wait until I got home much later. It was my parents' anniversary... should I borrow someone's phone to call them? Would I even know anyone at the seminar well enough to impose on them like that?

This was when it hit me.  I am addicted to my phone.  I don't need to be ON IT all the time, but I need it to be ON ME all the time.  Is there a 12-step program for this?

I do sometimes unplug, from my computer for sure, and from my phone... almost completely.  But even at those times, I know that my phone is nearby, and available if there is an emergency.  If I had an emergency yesterday, it would have had to be at a Starbucks, so I could use the wifi to email someone from my iPad!

At the seminar, like any good presenter, our teacher went around the group and had us introduce ourselves.  When it was my turn, I nearly said, "I'm Juliet, and I forgot my phone today."  I didn't, but I did have a hard time focusing in the beginning.  Luckily, he was a great teacher, and I dove into the day.  The building had wifi, and I checked my email during the break, and had the chance to follow up with a few of the things that were pressing.  

By the time it was time to leave, I knew I was going to be okay.  I walked back to the subway station, this time cutting through the park.  I looked around and noticed people this time.  Everyone was on their phone, iPhone, iPad, Kindle, and so on. Even a young man and woman who looked like they were having a fairly intimate moment both had their headphones on and were holding separate iPhones.  Only one 20-something guy was reading an actual book as I walked through the rows of benches.   

I got near the subway station, and dug out my ticket. Normally I would have checked the NJ transit app to see which train I could make.  Instead, I pulled out the paper train schedule when I got on the subway, and calculated my timing.  

When I got home, I remembered to hug my family and say hi to my dogs before I rushed to the phone.  And there it was. Right on the table.  Now to see how much I missed.  

No calls.

A few Facebook posts, none specifically for me.

One text.

Several emails, but nothing urgent.  Most of the people who received my earlier notes replied with "No iPhone, Juliet? Are you okay?"

Life went on without my phone.  It didn't kill me.  Did it make me stronger? I don't know about that.  It did make me a bit more self-aware.  Will it make me change my phone habits?  Maybe.  I consider myself a polite cell phone user already.  But maybe after I'm done writing this, then Tweeting it, I'll turn of the phone and go outside to my garden and leave the phone in its spot on the dining room table.  It seems that I generate a lot less work for myself that way.

Oh my apps, how I missed you!

*Fun fact:  They don't say pocketbook in the Pacific Northwest.  They say Purse or Handbag.  They looked at me like I was Ethel Mertz when I referred to my bag as a pocketbook when I was out there.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles. But mostly planes.

Not me.

In order to really grok where I am coming from, start with these two pieces of understanding.

• I am a Jewish educator.  I used to run the religious school of synagogues, and now I run programming for many synagogues' schools.  
• There is no need for regular travel for work in my business.  I live in an area where there are many synagogues, and many opportunities for work without having to travel, except for the occasional educational conference.

Me, doing what I do.

But as luck would have it, I was asked to fill in as an interim school director for one year in a state that pretty much could not be farther from my own.  Most of the time, I do the work from home, working on the computer, timing meetings with the 3-hour time difference in mind, and using Skype,  texts, and emails to keep up with the faculty and families.  Once a month, however, I fly out to Portland and drive up to Washington State to be present at this synagogue.  

No kidding, the view from my office window.  Mt. Hood.

When I am there, I love it.  The people are warm, gracious, laid back and appreciate of my hard work.  The teachers are a joy to work with and make me want to work harder to bring them to be their best.   The Rabbi is the reason I said yes in the first place. She's dedicated to the congregation and gifted with the students in a way that I have missed dearly in my new ventures in Jewish education. 

But this flying thing is another story.

When did flying start to suck so much???

I don't want to sound like Dennis Miller going off on one of his 1980's rants, but really?? When did the passenger on the plane become the bad guy?  From the minute I get near the airport, I feel like I am being punished, and vaguely guilty for a crime I'm not quite sure of, but I've committed it with a lot of other people.

Last year I had to commute in and around New York City, Westchester, and Long Island. Sitting in my car on the Long Island Expressway, not moving, listening to traffic on the 8's made me want to take that perky traffic reporter and throttle her.  On one occasion, it took me so long to get home, I had to find a place to stop to use a bathroom and to eat something.  I had been on the road for hours.  I found myself in a shopping mall on Route 4 in Paramus NJ (luckily it wasn't a Sunday, just saying...) and found sustenance. On my way out, I was accosted by kiosk workers who tried to tell me my skin was overly sensitive, my hair needed straightening and my nail beds were in bad shape.  (My NAIL BEDS?  I don't even know what they are and you can see they need fixing as I zoom past you?) 

Then there were days when my work took me into Manhattan.  Taking the train to NYC was not as bad as driving.  Until it was. Until your train just is not running that day, or your car is overcrowded, or your seatmate wants to chat, or is already chatting, loudly on her cell phone, or has fallen asleep and is drooling way too close to you, or he's wearing short shorts and his sticky sweaty legs are touching yours (the WORST).  Or you miss your express train because of traffic getting to the station and the next train stops at EVERY. SINGLE. STATION.  

"Never Again!" I vowed as I searched for a job closer to home (New Jersey).  No bridges.  No tunnels.  No train stations and bus schedules. No figuring out the subway system in New York, only to have it shut down and then figure out the bus.

So now, what have I done? I have traded all that for flying across the country.  

I guess it was my last trip when it finally all started to get to me.   

My hotel in Vancouver, Washington is a short drive from the airport, and I'm packed the night before. I'm organized and ready to go so I can get as much sleep as possible.  What can go wrong? 

After getting up at 3:30 in the morning, I returned my rental, WITHOUT filling up, because, DUH, gas stations are closed at 4:15 am.  I dragged my fairly heavy suitcase, laptop and pocketbook through the tunnels to the Portland, Oregon airport... it's a long walk, but I know it well by now... over to United Airlines.  Of course when I get there, it's  completely unclear where to go, and I chose poorly.  After being redirected up the escalator to the correct counter, I wait (of course) on a long line of people fumbling at the check-in kiosks.  

I have come to the conclusion that at any given time, the make-up of people who are flying is about half newbies and half regulars.  The regulars are really annoyed that the newbies do not know exactly what they are doing.  The newbies are completely frustrated that there is no one to help them.  The check-in would go much faster if someone would just stand there and help people who have never checked themselves in before.   Even my machine said "check in with a driver's license, passport or credit card," so I put in my driver's license.  The person next to me said, "Oh, these machines don't recognize your license, they only recognize Oregon licenses, you have to use a credit card."    AND I'M NOT A NEWBIE. Regular, smart, functioning people are now reduced to feeling like the new kid at a new school where you don't speak the language. 

I checked in, it's now about 5:00, for a 6:50 flight, and head to the security.  The line is ridiculous. The longest I've ever seen it at PDX (Portland Airport).  I eat my yogurt and banana on the line to save time. I observe about 10 mini-dramas.  I think maybe I'll tweet them, but I refrain. I try to take a photo of one guy's massive leg tattoo  (why is he wearing shorts in December?) declaring his everlasting love for Rosinda--could make a funny post on Instagram-- but again, I decide not to.  (Not because I'm afraid he'll see me and possibly hurt me, but because I can only do so much, what with holding my laptop, pocketbook, empty yogurt container, water bottle and banana peel.)

Finally, I'm near the top of the line, where they are yelling instructions.  And I realize that several people have to get out of line (newbies) because they won't get through security.  But if they had said those instructions at the beginning of the line those people might have saved about 20 minutes.  As grouchiness is starting to set in, the TSA agent looks at my passport, looks at me and says, "For real? Your hair? It's beautiful."   Ok.  Grouchiness averted.  FOR NOW.

And here we go.  Shoes off. Belt off. Laptop out. iPad out. ("Oh, Miss, you don't need to do that." "Well, I did in Newark, and it's out, so there you go.") Hand cream, contact solution, chapstick, in a ziploc out.  Watch off, pockets empty, coat off.  

Have I just been arrested? I'm going through the motions and I see that people in wheelchairs get to go right through.  I wonder how I feel about this.  My mind wanders. No terrorist has ever been physically challenged?  Or pretended to be--

"Miss, this is over regulation."

WHAT?

NOOOO.  My Ahava hand cream is over the size limit by one ounce.  Newark let it go.  Portland is gonna be a stickler.  

"Oh, please?  It's the best cream.  It's very expensive and it's so great for the ..."

"Do you want to squeeze it into smaller containers or give it to a companion at the gate?"

"no" I say in a small voice, of someone who has been caught doing something horrible. "I don't have a companion over there, and I have no empty containers."

That was the last I saw of my fantastic, skin-saving Ahava Dermud  cream. She let me take one last squeeze. I feel anger and grouchiness returning.

Good-bye my precious.

I re-dress myself and amble to the gate.  

I'm there early enough. I buy my $5.00 water for the plane, peruse the magazines and settle into a seat.  I check my email, 15 minutes until we board.  

I call my husband (it's three hours later) as they announce first class, and people in the military.  Zone 1. (I check my ticket, and I am zone 7. ) Zone 2. Zone 3. People with babies.  And then there's some whispering and a lot of buzz going on at that desk.  I'm watching them with great interest.

"Yes, um, there's going to be a slight delay with our boarding. Please take a seat."  

No problem, as I hadn't gotten up.  

It turns out that something had broken on the plane overnight.  Oops. 

When the captain was doing his safety check, he found it, which I must say I appreciate.

I don't appreciate a lot of what happened but I do appreciate not flying on a broken plane.

They announced that we should make alternate plans.  They offer to help people re-book their flights, and most of the people quietly line up at the three computers and patiently wait their turns as they are shuffled around and put on new flights.  (I mentioned that this is Portland, not Newark, right?) No one cursed. No one yelled, except those, like me, who chose to call United Airlines directly and were heard yelling into their phones this phrase:

"SPEAK TO AN AGENT."

When the automated system did let me speak to an agent, I finally got myself on to US Air, getting two flights to Newark, which would have me landing at about 7:30 pm, after changing planes in Phoenix.  As the agent on the phone was giving me a confirmation number, the ground crew at United announced that the broken part was fixable, the new part was being flown up from San Francisco.  This plan should be good to go at about 11:00, getting us to Newark by about 7:00 pm.

Hmmm.  Stay on the broken plane, spend 3 more hours at the airport, but then have a non-stop flight home which is BOUND to be less crowded?

or

Accept the new flights, risk losing my luggage, run over to US Air, fret about the change in Phoenix, and get home at the same time.

I told the agent on the phone to put me back on the United flight.  She said she couldn't .

I said she could.

She said she needed a manager.

I told her to hurry up and get one.

She felt inconvenienced.

I felt my New Jersey coming on.

Eventually I was back on my flight.
After the line went down, I confirmed with guys at the desk at the  United counter that I was indeed on the flight and that my luggage was staying on it too.  They gave me a $10 voucher to buy breakfast.

Hah.  Even in Portland $10 does not buy breakfast at the airport.  But it did buy a humongous Bloody Mary, which helped reduce my stress level by about 30%.

I walked the entire length of the airport a few times so I wouldn't fall asleep before my flight... (It almost worked.) I tipped the guy playing Christmas carols on the xylophone, and the guy playing Bach on the mini-cello.  (That's probably not what it's really called.)  Back at the gate I went onto United.com and changed my seat on the flight so I could have three seats all to myself.  I was fairly smug about that clever move.  I then got a new boarding pass, and asked the attendant to try to keep row 31 clear for me. Wink Wink.

Eventually the flight took off.  They did not give us free food, but it seemed that people who ordered beer or wine were not being asked for their credit cards.  After that I conked out for 2 1/2  hours, stretched out like 9 year old, using my laptop case as a pillow.  It was the first time I had been on a flight that wasn't packed.

For our trouble, United gave us a token of appreciation, $75 off any flight, good for a year.  I was hoping for a bit more...(First class forever?  Free drinks forever? Free companion flights forever? )

But I made it home safe and sound... and I was greeted by two bounding dogs and a happy husband who had dinner ready and a cocktails on the counter for the weary traveler.

Flying used to be special, and customer oriented.  Now it's something to get through.  Sitting on a cramped "air-bus" on a seat that reclines about an inch if you're lucky, next to someone who is sloppily eating a smelly Subway sub or buffalo chicken wrap because the planes are so stingy about their food.

But  still.  Every trip is a mini adventure.  It's exhausting, sometimes exhilarating.  The photos I took of Mt. Saint Helens and Mount Hood were amazing. The time I am in the sky is my only time "offline," except for Shabbat.   I've also gotten better at falling asleep sitting up straight.  And you'd be amazed at the great finds available in the sky mall catalog!  Dog crates that look like coffee tables!  A Snuggie that has your favorite football team printed on it that plugs into the car lighter!

Anyway, time to end this somewhat lengthy post and go book my next trip.  I'm sure it'll be uneventful. (Please read that with lots of Jersey sarcasm.)

Happy New Year.  Hope you don't have to travel to be with the ones you love.

Mt. St. Helens covered with snow, from my airplane window. Cool, right?

Air Alaska gives you a free beer on the puddle jumper from Portland to Seattle.
But you have to drink it really  fast. One flight attendant actually said, "Come on, down it like you're still in college!"

For the record, my miserable experience was with United Airlines... the photos are from Air Alaska.  Why not promote the Airline with whom I have had nothing but positive experiences and free beer?  :-)