I had been critical of people who were stuck to their cell phones–that is until I got locked in a chicken coop.
I was 34 years old when I completed my master’s degree in counseling and I had four children at home. Therefore, I was alarmed when the first day at my new job, my supervisor handed me a pager. “This is so you can be available to your clients in event of emergency. Put this number on your voice mail and the pager will buzz when you need to call your client back.”
“Emergency?” I asked baffled.
“You know, if one of your clients needs to talk to you immediately. Then you can take their call or come into the office right away.”
I knew how pagers worked. My dad was a doctor and he carried a pager. I remember him jumping up out of the pew so many times during sacrament meeting we thought he had intestinal issues.
What would I do if a client called my pager and all my kids were home? What would I do if my husband wasn’t available to watch the kids? I did not want to be constantly available. I did not want people thinking they could contact me day or night. I stared at my new boss and my palms began to sweat. I was going to get fired before I ever saw my first client.
“Um, I won’t be able to take calls at the spur of the moment,” I informed my new boss. “Can I change my voice mail and give my clients the number of the Mental Health Resource Center to call in case of emergency?”
He pondered my idea and agreed that would be sufficient. Within days he had changed his own voice mail so that instead of sharing the number to his pager, he advised his clients to contact the Mental Health Resource Center.
I was free! He was free! We no longer had to jump and run at every emergency. We could see our clients as scheduled and continue our lives without constant interruptions. I felt pretty smug about my victory.
Several years later, technology offered a new way for people to be constantly available, so they could be contacted day or night. I secretly scoffed at those who wore an Apple Watch or the equivalent, with the ability to view instantly every text, every email, see every phone call. I had fought hard so that I didn’t have to be constantly available, and here people were choosing to wear a modern-day pager. I was determined not be enticed into this modern-day servitude. However, my entire attitude changed when I got locked in a chicken coop.
In Crisis
My daughter and her husband have 17 chickens and each day they collect 17 eggs from their chicken coop. While their family was out of town, I offered to stop by their home to gather their eggs. “It’s really easy,” they said. “Just go in and the eggs will be right in front of you.”
Our church building is 30 minutes from our home and my daughter’s house is half-way between our home and the church. Therefore, to save time, I figured I would stop by to get the eggs on my way home from church. With my high heels on and an ankle-length skirt I trudged across my daughter’s backyard toward the chicken coop. It was July in Florida and the noon-day sun baked my back. I ignored my discomfort as I was certain my chore would only take a minute.
I lifted the latch on the door and stepped up over a half-wall into the coop. The chickens came running toward me and I carefully closed the door so they wouldn’t escape while I gathered their eggs. I found the eggs without any trouble, filled my basket and turned to leave. I pulled the door of the coop toward me and it didn’t budge. I tugged harder without results. Perhaps the door opened out? I pushed as hard as I could and the door remained shut. I rattled the door back and forth but it remained shut. The chickens surrounded me, their yellow beaks pecked at the flowers on my skirt and their soft feathers dusted my ankles. The strap broke on my one of my heels and I looked for a place to sit down. However, the floor of the coop was covered in chicken poop. Perhaps I could kick the door down? But then all the chickens would get out and I could never gather them. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades as I pondered my predicament.
I was not in the habit of carrying a cell phone. At home, my phone rested on the counter in the kitchen and when I was out it remained in my purse. I seldom wore clothing with pockets, so it was not convenient to carry a cell phone, besides, I had decided long ago, I didn’t want to always be available. As I swung around the chicken coop inspecting every wall, I felt something hard hit my hip. My phone! My flowered skirt had pockets and I had slipped my phone into one of the pockets in case I had to call my daughter with questions about the chickens. Halleluiah! I was saved.
Like-Minded Spouse
I quickly called my husband who was still at the church in a bishopric meeting. Bret did not answer. I called again. The phone rang and rang. All my smugness at not needing to be constantly available disappeared. Bret did not believe in pagers any more than I did. He would not answer his phone in a middle of a meeting. I was doomed. I would need to sweat among these smelly chickens for another hour while my husband finished his meeting. Miserable, I thought of those who would be in the meeting and I called Bret’s counselor. Twenty-three-year- old Ammon answered immediately. Bless his heart. Ammon was part of the generation that had embraced constant availability.
“Ammon, it’s an emergency,” I cried. “Can you have the bishop call me right away?”
Moments later my phone rang. “Bret! Help! I’m stuck in the chicken coop. I need you to come rescue me right away.”
“What? I can’t hear you. What’s that clucking noise?”
“I’m locked in our daughter’s chicken coop,” I shouted.
Bret began to laugh so hard he couldn’t speak.
“It’s not funny,” I shouted louder.
“I’ll be right there,” he snorted, trying to suppress his mirth.
Twenty minutes later, with my nose pressed against the chicken wire, and my skirt speckled with dirt I spotted my husband, white shirt and tie, making his way toward me.
“Stop laughing,” I commanded, as he tucked his chin into his chest so I couldn’t see the humor on his face.
Within seconds the door to the chicken coop sprung open and I was so relieved to be free I fell into Bret’s arms, entirely forgetting to be mad.
The Joy of Choice
Our children have had the last laugh. Not only are they amused that their city-girl mother had never been near a chicken coop before the day she got locked inside, they flash their Apple Watches with the wisdom of a generation that embraces technology and uses it wisely. They have helped me realize that perhaps I took my disdain for pagers a little too far. With a pager I didn’t have much choice–I was expected to respond every time it beeped. However, new technology has given us a world of choices. To answer or not. To respond or not. I’m especially pleased that Bret’s young counselor chose to answer.
