the phone book's last stand

A sign of the times. Yesterday I saw this phone book flipping desperately in the rising wind. Someone had cast it off on top of a ten foot high pedestal. Phone books don't stand a chance. I have lived for two years without a phone book. Whenever the phonebooks get delivered to our apartment building, nobody takes them. They sit for weeks inside the front door. Later the landlord moves them to the laundry room. Still later he posts a somewhat threatening note next to them, as if we will only now realize their significance to us- having been threatened with the potential loss of them. That's the way our landlord operates. Passive aggressively. I'll photograph his new dumpster notice sometime to prove it. Jon has had his bike threatened on several occasions. A children's car seat left in the basement hallway was similarly attacked. I remember thinking to myself when we first were given a tour of our prospective apartment by Dana (yep, a man named Dana which turns out to be the mere beginning of his psychosis), 'It might be pretty cool to have an anal retentive landlord.'
And for the most part, it is pretty cool.

There have been moments in the last two years when I have wanted a phone book. In November, my sister wanted me to call the movie theatre to check out the movie times. I didn't have the number to the movie theatre. I also did not have internet access. She was aghast. When I explained to her my stance on phone books being totally passe, she was less than impressed. I argued that it only seemed backwards given the context. Weak. There was also a time in mid-February when the temperature was minus five degrees and I didn't have the number to the pizza place. Jon and I walked almost a mile to get there, then waited for 20 minutes while the pizzas cooked to walk them back home. The original plan had been delivery. I realize that these are piss-poor examples of why no one should have a phone book, but mark my words- the golden age of phone books is over.