Teens and twentysomethings connect to their cells differently, relying on them as their main telecommunication source and utilizing their features more than older users. What might this mean for the future of communication—in every aspect of the word?

One-third of surveyed teens and twentysomethings said they’d rather go without sex, alcohol, and coffee than give up their cells. (contributed photo)

Your life comes to a screeching halt of sorts if you lose it—then, when explaining to others that, while you did have it before, you don’t now, you elicit reactions that would look to outsiders like you’ve just openly admitted to taking a hard drug, fixing a ballot box, or running a dog fighting ring.

We’re not talking about true love here. Or maybe we are. We’re talking about a man and his third hand, the cell phone—an appropriate metaphor, since research bears out that young men are the most attached to their cells.

Many people are dependent on their cell phones, but if any group has turned into salivating zombies for the devices, it’s the 18-to-29-year-olds. A Pew Internet Project regarding cell phone use from April 2006 reveals that 32 percent of the youngest group of cell phone users polled claimed they “couldn’t live without their cells,” while only 18 percent of cell users above 30 expressed that level of devotion for the devices.

It goes beyond this: a recent article in The UK’s Guardian said about one-third of surveyed teens and twentysomethings said they’d rather go without sex, alcohol, and coffee than give up their cells. This, despite the fact that a majority of that group also claimed they believed the device lowered their quality of life because it provided others with continual and instant access, putting them within a button’s reach of employers and other intrusive callers. Respondants also reported more last-minute changes of plans.

So what happens when you come between a twentysomething and his cell? I set out to find out.

In Their Own Little World: Phones and the Kids Who Love Them

Using my own martyrdom as bait, I conned my best friend into going a full 48 hours—from 9 p.m. Friday to 9 p.m. Sunday—sans cell with me.

I also tried my best to recruit a couple of Angelo State students to my cause. I thought the University’s News & Publication Staff would be a good place to start. I managed to get a fellow by the name of Preston on the line.

“I see,” he said, when I had explained my story angle. “So you want these students to go without their cells? What are you going to give them in return?”

I explained to him that, like all journalism, this piece was meant to contribute to the body of information on a specific topic for the benefit of the people—specifically, how a somewhat invasive technology is affecting its most avid users. He asked me if I was getting paid for the article, then jeered at me when I gave him the obvious response. He muttered something about passing the request along and then hung the receiver up loudly (perhaps one of the land line’s last bastions of strength over the cell).

I had started with the news staff thinking they’d be sympathetic.

I was lucky to strike gold with Dr. Cathy Johnson, advisor to the student newspaper, The Rampage. She baited two students to participate in the experiment for extra credit. Here is a sample of what I got from them:

(Courtney from San Angelo):

“I have already experienced cell phone withdrawal. I didn't have a cell phone when I started college 2 1/2 years ago. I would laugh when everyone pulled out their phones immediately after class. I didn't think I could become dependent on an electronic gadget like a cell phone. I was SO wrong.

I don't wear a watch because I generally use my cell phone to check the time. I kept having to ask other people what time it was.

I used the courtesy phone at the school after I got out of class and experienced problems dialing Sprint cell phone numbers with the prefix 227. Then, I tried to call my fiancé to see if he wanted to go to lunch. He would not answer the call because the number was unknown and wasn't set to my ringtone.

I went to Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner and was bored because my brother and his friend were playing poker. I wanted to pull out my cell phone and use my calculator or calendar. I use both of them frequently when I'm bored.

I hope there isn't a thunderstorm that knocks out the electricity tonight or I will be late to class, since I use my cell phone as a back up alarm clock.”

Courtney had volunteered to go a day without her phone and said she was relieved to find three messages a little over 24 hours later when she was allowed to pick her phone back up.

Some of her comments are especially telling about youths’ cell phone use: Young people use extra features on cell phones like calculators, calendars, and downloadable ringtones much more than those who are older (according to an article in Businessweek from August 17, 2005, 56 percent of 18–34 cell users polled said they used their phones calendar and address book functions, vs. the average of 42 percent for all ages polled; only 19 percent of the 55-plus surveyed use these features).

But what’s really amazing is how dependent younger cell users can be on these “extras,” and how it has seemingly changed the way they communicate in such little time.

It’s a shift, but perhaps not a groundbreaking one, that Courtney prefers her phone’s alarm clock and timekeeper to those items that were made for this purpose. But what about her circle of friends’ reliance on their address books to screen and dial calls? Courtney’s boyfriend, remember, refused to answer a number he didn’t recognize. As the Businessweek stat reinforces, younger people rely on their cells’ address book function so much, they may not answer calls from numbers not already registered in their phones—and, with most of these numbers registered under a programmed name, these users may not be able to call other people’s numbers “by heart” the way many did back when landlines were more prevalent. (Could this be part of the reason the number of pay phones have been slashed in half over the past decade? The FCC reports that there were 1,000,802 pay phones as of March 31, 2006, compared to 2,086,540 as of March 30, 1997 [from their 2006 “Trends in Telephone Service” report], though the report didn’t give a specific reason for the pay phones’ decline.)

Lindsey, another student who volunteered her phone-less experience for this story (hers was enforced: there’s no Verizon store in San Angelo to repair her broken phone), revealed that she has been carrying a piece of paper with her all of her “important” family and friends’ numbers that she hasn’t memorized, in absence of her cell’s address book.

“So what?” you say. “Young people are simply casting their votes with a more effective, high-tech address book.” But is that all that’s happening? Or does reliance on one’s address book--which are often used like gatekeepers for communication--foster a more “private” cell culture among younger people?

Other habits also point to a more private cell culture among youths. Consider that the Pew’s research from April 2006 indicates that young people use cell phones, more than any other group, to fill small gaps of free time with calls, whether they’re in line, en route, or in any sort of short limbo. Is this preventing them from chatting to the person next to them? Do cell phones trail an invisible rope back to the users’ familiar circles when used in this way?

Maybe. One thing’s for sure: If this is a budding social trend, we’re set to become a more divided society in the coming decades, as all the established research puts “cell-only” (those who have no use for a land line) users at 7 to 9 percent. That group is largely young, unmarried, and set to grow up, multiply, and own their own houses one day—houses, likely, that won’t have land lines.

But enough of the doom and gloom. My friend and I also went through the same experience as Lindsey and Courtney, with other conclusions. On to that.

So Happy Together…

It was the weekend before I was to move, and I still didn’t have a new abode picked. My friend Chanel had a close cousin who was to go into labor that weekend. I figured we would both be sufficiently thwarted without our phones.

I specifically set up the cell sabbatical like so: At 9 p.m. Friday night, we would silence our phones and stick them somewhere out of view, so the sight and sound of them wouldn’t erode our resolve. “Okay,” Chanel blithely agreed. “Our apartment is on the way to the hospital. If [cousin] Felicia goes into labor, I’m sure [my familiy] will stop by.”

I returned home Saturday night to a sheepish roommate with phone in-hand.

According to Chanel, she had gone a whole 24 hours before she caved. Lack of Internet connectivity contributed to her eventual cracking point. That, and the fact that she hadn’t really turned her cell phone ringer off (as the rules stipulated), and that the calls had started getting closer and closer together.

”I checked my phone, and it was my sister,” began her explanation of the beginning of the end. “Then it was my cousin [who left Chanel a message when her water broke]. Then my parents kept calling. When I finally picked up and yelled at them for calling [they had been debriefed on the experiment], they said, ‘Well, we figured there was a chance you’d pick up.’”

It’s notoriously difficult for twentysomethings to pry themselves away from their phones.

In fact, an Internet perusal showed my experiment to be unoriginal. A report from Fox News last summer called “Cell Phones Are the Latest 'Addiction'” told of an information science professor named Sergio Chaparro who had given a homework assignment to his class of 220. The task was simple: They had to turn off their cells for 72 hours. Only three saw the challenge to fruition.

Chanel stuck it out for a whole day (which I appreciate). But the fact that she never turned off her ringer showed an anxiety to go completely cell-free for the weekend.

She claims I never said to turn off the ringer. I did.

You Can Take the Cell Off the Person, But…

And me? How did I fare in the experiment?

Terribly.

I mean, I completed it. But I think I may be a cell phone addict.

That’s right. As the aforementioned Fox News story title suggests, being addicted to your cell is the next big thing. The pop culture powers that be have even dubbed a name for that phenomenon where you hear your phone ringing when it’s not. It’s called “phantom ringing,” and experts who should know say it may happen because our brains are now so “conditioned” to be receptive to our cell phone ring.

Funny thing is, I didn’t experience much phantom ringing during my weekend off the cell. I usually experience it otherwise, however—namely, when I’m listening to a particular John Mayer song on my iPod, miles away from my cell, running on the street’s sidewalk pavement. The last place on earth I won’t take my cell.

What I did experience was a weekend filled with was false starts: reaching for my phone when it wasn’t there, because I needed it to use my calculator to figure out an expense for my impending move, or to fuel my incessant obsession with tabulating my caloric intake.

And making weekend plans? Forget it. I tried to do it over e-mail. I tried to arrange a same-day invite among friends to go meet at a hookah bar, and when they didn’t get back to me within an hour or two of the initial e-mail, canceled the excursion. When I came back hours later to messages that, yes, these people would like to meet up if I still wanted to go, I jumped the gun, hopped in my car, and waited for them to show up at the bar—in vain. I had never sent a verification e-mail. I’m not used to making on-the-fly plans via e-mail. I’m used to calling people when I actually get somewhere if things go wrong.

Why didn't I use the land line? Didn't know their numbers.

But the big payoff came, despite all these inconveniences, Sunday night at 9 p.m., when I was finally able to check my messages. (Okay, it was 7:30: I came up a whole hour-and-a-half short.)

There was what I had been looking for: a call and a text message from my long-distance boyfriend--one on Friday night, and one from Saturday, even though he knew about my experiment.

“I figured there was a chance you’d pick up,” he later explained.