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In today’s world of rapidly developing technology, the concept of communication has begun to go hand in hand with instant gratification. And that’s not always a good thing.

People used to hand write letters to one another. And a telephone call used to require an operator with a switchboard to connect the call. Or so I’ve been told. When I was younger, I always made sure never to leave the house without a quarter tucked into my pocket. Back when it only cost 25 cents to use a pay phone and call daddy for a ride home. Way back when it wasn’t at all odd to get a busy signal, because no one had heard of call waiting, or caller ID. When voicemail hadn’t been heard of yet, and we went home anxious to see that little red light on the answering machine blinking, only to find out that the damn thing had eaten the tape again.

But today, everyone on the planet has a cell phone, tiny little connections to anyone, anywhere, only a speed dial away. And now that we’re used to this new world, we can’t imagine functioning any other way. Many people don’t even both to hook up their regular home phones anymore, and why should they, when cell phones get service everywhere? And really, we don’t even need to call each other anymore, with the development of a new feature: text messaging.

Most of the time cell phones are great, and I’ve had some of my most intense panic attacks when I’ve potentially lost mine. But I’ve come to a very solid conclusion – Cell phones and alcohol DO NOT mix.

I may have had a bit too much to drink Friday night. In fact, I think it’s a certainty. Not that it’s a bad thing… I had a fabulous evening with two fabulous girls, but at the end of the night, it wasn’t enough. I needed more socializing. And with the modern world of technology right at my fingertips, I yanked my cell out of my purse. And proceeded to systematically call every single person in my phone book. Not so fabulous.

Waking up the next morning at Sarah’s apartment, I could vaguely recollect making some calls the night before. Conveniently, cell phones store these types of records, so I flipped open my phone to inspect the damage. The calls: not too bad. Several conversations a few minutes long with good friends, very forgivable. At worst, they probably only lost a few minutes of beauty sleep.

Then I checked my text messages. And my heart sank. My head started to pound. And not because of the hangover that was rapidly surfacing. I had sent the most embarrassing, humiliating, mortifying text message of all time. To someone that I really care about. And I couldn’t take it back. The little black check mark signifying “DELIVERED” stared mockingly up at me. Fuck.

Before I moved out, my parents always told me that it was inappropriate and rude to call someone’s home after 9 p.m. Maybe I should have listened to them… There should be some sort of law against drinking and dialing. Because like drinking and driving, it’s never a good idea, and someone always gets hurt.