I judged pay phone users until I found out the sex of our baby

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People who talk on pay phones always seem suspect to me. Always.

My friend had this as her Facebook status, and I fully agreed. I felt the same way about pay phone users here in the city that I did about bus riders back in Florida. I’d think, “How do they not have a cell phone?” just like I thought, “How do they not have a car?” Those are shamefully judgmental attitudes that I hope don’t resurface anytime soon or ever.

I learned the hard way that pay phones still serve a purpose in our wireless society and the people who use them are just as valuable as any iPhone junkie. And it happened during one of the biggest moments for any pregnant couple.

Unlike our first pregnancy, I couldn’t get to any of Cool Mum’s appointments, but today was different. We were finding out the gender of the next Cool Baby. I left work in a hurry and in my haste, I left my phone there. I was well on the way to the subway when I realized it, and I didn’t have time to go back and get it. That’s OK, I figured, because I had time to meet CM at our apartment and go to the appointment together.

I didn’t have as much time as I thought I did because CM was gone when I got home. I ran off to where I thought the clinic was, but when I got there, I was wrong. And I couldn’t call Cool Mum.

It was time to seem suspect and use a pay phone. I immediately noted the irony of the situation. I dug some change out of my man-purse and tried to call CM’s phone, but the call wouldn’t go through. I gave the phone the $1.00 that the staticky female voice asked for. I tried this 3 times, but no go. Then I called work to see if a coworker could reach CM. No one answered.

I was supposed to be finding out the gender of my new baby, but instead of I was fighting with a crummy pay phone. What, my money wasn’t good enough for it?? I guess I was on Madison Avenue, but still.

Cool Dad was not keeping cool. I was feeling a little desperate, which would explain why I approached a nanny and the little boy she was nannying while they innocently waited for “the hand” to change to the “walking man,” as CB calls them. As that little boy can probably recount to you from the nightmares he’s had since, I approached his nanny and blurted out,

“Hi, I’m married, and my wife is probably gonna kill me, but she’s pregnant, and we’re finding out the gender of our baby today, like right now, but I don’t know where the clinic is, and I left my phone at work, and I don’t where to go, and this piece-of-junk pay phone won’t work and who ever uses those things anyway? Could I use your cell phone to call my wife?

The nanny kindly obliged (as you can expect from any random person on the NYC streets that you ask a favor of) and called CM twice. She didn’t answer. I was pretty upset that I was missing this amazing moment that we should be sharing together. The little boy was pretty upset because of the crazy short man who was harassing his nanny. I let them be and wondered how I would explain it to CM.

I started wandering home when I looked up and saw it: the radiology clinic, one block down from where I thought it was. I ran inside, probably scaring the waiting patients halfway to labor, and was let in back to CM’s room. Only by God’s grace, they had just started and I didn’t miss a thing.

That day, I learned that we were having another little boy. I also learned not to be judgmental of the fine people who use pay phones. Actually, they deserve more love because they probably couldn’t make the call anyway.

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