Tonight Dan and I went to get new phones. We had a grand plan, since we are now a family, we would get a family plan, and we would manage our phones from the same account and pay for them from our joint checking account, and everything would be harmonious and lovely.
Until… Since I am already on AT&T, Dan was going to join my account. I have my phone number from Denver, and he has a DC number. Apparently, this is simply too much for AT&T’s system to handle. We can’t have one account that has phone numbers that are in different geographic regions. Disregarding that as far as AT&T is concerned I’ve never actually lived in Denver, I established the account in Maryland, and my billing addresses have always been DC or Maryland. If you want to be a family, and manage multiple phone numbers from the same account, you must have area codes in the same “zone”. The solution? Dan can get a new number (in Denver) or I can get a new number (in Maryland).
I’d like to say that I was surprised by my reaction to not wanting to change my phone number, but I wasn’t. I have had my current cell phone number since 2001. That’s longer than I’ve lived in any one place, longer than I’ve known most of my current friends, longer than I’ve known Dan. It’s outlasted every email address I’ve had, and all of my jobs. It has been the single most constant piece of information associated with me (aside from my vital stats) since I began college.
I don’t really feel the need to stay connected to Denver through my area code. It makes a lot of sense for me to have a local cell phone number, especially as our child grows and babysitters, daycares and schools need to reach me. But I don’t think about my cell phone number as being associated with a place, I think of it as being associated with me. I know that I am not alone in this sentiment. All of my friends from high school who I have stayed in touch with have kept their Denver phone numbers (even the ones with kids). All of my friends in college had cell phone numbers that were local to where they came from (not where we went to school). My friends from DC and Maryland who have moved away have kept their DC and Maryland phone numbers, whether they are in Arizona, California, or Washington (state).
I feel this very real, very visceral connection to my cell phone number. I feel an affinity with this piece of information that has appeared by my name on every resume, job application, HR form and charitable donation for nearly a decade (I got my Denver phone number during winter break my freshman year of college). Facebook has made it easier than every to “keep in touch” with people you don’t really care about, but what about the people I do care about that I just haven’t been in touch with recently? What about my grandmother, who still occasionally calls the dorm room phone number I had during my first year at school, despite the fact that I’ve personally crossed the number out in her address book? I know that I am not my cell phone number, but my cell phone number feels like a part of me… and I know that I am not the only person to feel this way.
It seems that we are living in a post- cell- phone- tied- to- geography age. Yes, I could, and likely will end up switching to have a local phone number on my cell phone. But I wonder how much longer AT&T will be able to maintain that a single account cannot have multiple area codes just because that’s the way their system is configured. It seems to me that their system should get adjusted to reflect the reality on the ground.