Number, Please?

While watching the news this evening, it gave me an idea for a new blog from me. I do enjoy writing but the last couple of months have been filled with ‘other things’, and my list of ‘no-no’ topics that won’t be entertained by me is getting longer. I try not to be a ‘negative’ person. There is too much of that these days.

Back to the news this evening… a town in the northern part of our province has announced that the last pay telephone in town will be retired, because it had only been used about ten times the past year. Following that announcement, the news broadcast stated that there are still 700 payphones in use in our province. I guess this is an important and newsworthy item for this second week in February! We even got to hear the sound of coins dropping in the coin box. Wow! That was exciting! OK… I didn’t promise not to be sarcastic!

Payphones were important in my younger days. There were many reasons that we needed to make a phone call when away from home. We had no idea that we would have a phone in our pocket in our lifetime. We didn’t even have a phone with a long cord in our home, limiting our ability to wander through the house while talking… and talking! In my young life, my parents didn’t have a house phone for a number of years before moving to the city. During the three years of my nursing training, our phone calls were sent and received through a switchboard, operated by one of our house-mothers. It wasn’t much better on my first nursing job in a small hospital following graduation. To make even a local call, we would be greeted by the local telephone operator who greeted us with “Number, please!” She would then plug in a cord to connect the caller to the receiver. We depended on her quick response, even in the middle of the night, when we needed to contact the local doctor because of an emergency or a baby about to arrive.

This evening, I was reminded of an incident involving a payphone that caused me some embarrassing moments, and later a giggle and some teasing. I was dating the telephone crew boss at the time (he’s still my best friend after 58 years of marriage). On one occasion, we had travelled to the next town and for some reason I needed to call the matron of the hospital. He drove me to the phone booth and sat in the car while I made the call. I didn’t have a nickel or a dime (and 5-cent or 10-cent coin) so I deposited a quarter (25-cent coin). My call was very short, and I became frustrated because the phone wasn’t giving me the change. After banging on the receiver hook and the return coin bin, I returned to the car to complain that the phone wasn’t working. That was when I learned that a payphone doesn’t give refunds.

Of course it doesn’t! What was I thinking?