Shut up and drive.

• Author: Kinney, David
• Position: UP FRONT

I am getting old. How I know is not the pink of my pate peeking through thinning thatch nor the persistent pain that predicts plastic and metal soon will replace gristle and bone in both my knees. No, how I can tell is by catching my reflection in the rearview mirror and not seeing a cell phone clasped to my ear like a wax-sucking remora.

Driving to and from work, both my hands grip the wheel, often as not the knuckles pearly white, while my mouth remains shut except to mutter curses, which, I confess, covers most of my commute. I know, I know: This kind of rage will kill me. But they--the cell-outs--likely will get me first, one of their two-ton mobile phone booths, its pilot engrossed in gabbing, weaving across the lane to smash into my truck. What is it these people talk about that is so fascinating? And why can't it wait until they get out of the car? Or if it's so pressing, why not pull over?

Cell phones are a valuable business tool, but most of these folks aren't working. Even if they are, how safe is sharing the road with somebody whose mind is focused on making money? The other day, I pulled up to a stoplight between a woman in an SUV gesticulating with the hand not holding her phone and a guy in a company car, pen in his free paw poised over a notebook, both blabbing away. This had the makings of a sandwich, and since I didn't relish the role of playing potted meat, I hit the gas at the first gleam of green. Predictably, neither of...