If you have a ringtone that sounds like a motorcycle starting up, you might be tough. Or you might wish you were tough. If your ringtone is a pop song, you might be the fan of that pop artist. Or you might wish you were that pop artist. If your ringtone is the sound of crickets or of soft harp music, you might be soft and gentle. Or perhaps you fantastize about being softer and gentler than you are. You might also be wishing for a softer and gentler environment.
Here’s one way to get one: shut the thing down. When your ringtone goes off during a quiet period—and when that ringer is a crowing cock, the phone’s volume turned all the way up—you draw attention to yourself. People wonder, “What connection is there between you and a crowing cock?”
Some of them, of course, pity you. After all, this can happen to anyone. You select a ringtone. You feel it expresses your personality. And then—boom!—one unexpected moment that ringtone is interfering with everyone’s peace. Your cock is crowing. Reminiscent of the hour when Peter realized he had denied his Lord three times. Or at the hour when your Peter rises in your pants and you cannot perform tasks at the blackboard, walk down the street in your puritanical neighborhood without being deemed a pervert and stoned to death.
You’re wondering, no doubt, about my ringtone. Mine sounds like a phone. After all, it belongs to a phone, so I’ve selected a traditional sound. And when it goes off by accident—we have these convenient machines, we masochists, that allow our friends, loved ones and creditors to communicate with us while we defecate—people do *not* wonder, “Who the fuck is calling him as he shits?” Not at all. Instead, they think, “Why can’t I get peace and quiet in this toilet?”
Photo by raymondgobis/Flickr