*Not for use in the U.S.
A few weeks ago, a story appeared on The Big Screen about a “critic” who couldn’t manage to make it through a screening without texting. It was greeted with a tidal wave of sympathetic comments and one serious solution to transforming your favorite multiplex into a dead signal zone.
“This is the solution to annoying people on smartphones in venues such as theaters,” writes Reader epistler Ponzi. “It’s a phone jammer. I bought one from a company in Israel.”
You gotta’ love the Jews.
The TITAN all-in-one portable jamming solution will silence the madness. The gadget weighs a little over a pound and fits snugly in pocket or purse. You go out and hammer nails with it all day, come back and it will zap electronic apparatus within a radius of 82-feet every time. Ain’t that a little honey?
One tingles at the thought of looking on from a back row perspective as one after another of the obstreperous zombies’ quest to puncture the darkness is met with a cellular device that’s deader than their soul. If nothing else, it’s bound to be more diverting than 90 percent of what passes for entertainment at the multiplex.
Ponzi goes on to caution, “It is illegal to use them in the U.S. The FCC claims public safety as the reason. But they are used in prisons and other government facilities. Unless you get fingered by an angry mob of text-deprived millennials, you have little to worry about.”
Illegal, schmegal. Let them throw me in aesthetic jail.
To quote Marley’s ghost in Dickens’s’ yuletide classic, “Every day we pay the price, with a little sacrifice, jammin’ till the jam is through.” As much as we’d like to be jammin’, the price of silence doesn’t come cheap. The tchotchke runs $640. Don’t get me wrong. The uninterrupted joy it emits is worth ten times that. Unfortunately, I blew all my surplus holiday cash on tube socks and underwear at the Dollar Tree.
I want a TITAN for Christmas! The thought of asking the boss to toss one in my holiday stocking had crossed my mind, but who wants to come across as an ingrate, particularly in light of this year’s Christmas bonus, a Rolex Daytona.
That leaves it up to one of you. What do you say? An investment of $640 will translate into a few years’ worth of hilarious columns. And I’ll even arrange to be in the audience with you for at least a dozen opening-night performances.
Together we can zap the little buggers to oblivion and enjoy movies the way God intended them. You know where to find me. Now if only there was a button to push that would silence crying babies.