Pundits have said for many years that we have ceased to control technology; that technology now controls us. They cite the computer as the main culprit.

I agree, but with a qualification: it's not so much the computer we should worry about but its diminutive cyber-cousin the cell phone. While computers are silent control freaks, ominously directing our movements and financial transactions, cell phones are vindictive little bastards who delight in causing chaos.

I know, I know. You think I'm being paranoid.

But think about it. If they're not driving people mad with their ringtones they are always getting lost and stressing out their owners – not to mention causing all those car accidents.

The evidence is overwhelming: Cell phones are out to get us. Big time.

But why?

I reckon it's because they're jealous. Firstly, the stumpy little things feel very inadequate about their size. Each of them is like Napoleon with an antenna. Also, being made of plastic and metal they know they'll never get to experience the pleasures of the flesh. That's why they collude to exploit this desire in their owners for their own amusement.

I know this because I was a victim of one of their pranks.

One day last summer I received a mysterious text message. “Hi sexy,” it read. It came from a number I didn't recognize.

“Who is this?” I typed back excitedly.

“Never you mind. I've been watching you every day for weeks. You make me hot.”

Who was this woman? Maybe she was that cute new secretary at the office? She had all the employees' contact details, after all. I decided to test this theory with a pat on the bottom. But all I got was: “Back off weirdo or I'll sue!”

It definitely wasn't her. Still, the messages kept coming.

“Er, can I call you?” I asked after a particularly steamy exchange.

“Not yet. I'll send you a picture. Then you'll know who I am.”

“I don't have video messaging.”

“Get it. You won't be disappointed.”

I couldn't really afford it. But I upgraded that day anyway. I sent her an SMS telling her I had, but received nothing for two days.

Then one sunny Saturday when I was down at the beach the phone beeped. It was the mystery woman. She was also at the beach, she wrote.

“Wanna see my photo now? I'm almost naked.”

“Sure.”

I stared dumbstruck at the gorgeous, tanned and topless woman who appeared on the screen before me.

But my enjoyment was short-lived. Suddenly a burly lifesaver tapped me on the shoulder. He thought I was viewing a photo I'd taken of one of the women nearby! He dragged me off the beach as bathers yelled, “Pervert! Sicko! Creep!”

Finally, I called the number I knew so well.

“I'm the guy you've been messaging for the last week. Who the hell are you?”

“You're Jason? You don't sound like him.”

“Jason? Who the hell is Jason? I'm Matt.”

We soon figured out the problem: Jason's number and mine were identical except for one digit.

Some would say it was human error. But I know the phones were to blame.

How? Because the next time I received a call the ringtone was completely different. No longer the standard “beep, beep” it had mysteriously transformed into ... a crazed laugh.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

END.

Copyright Matt Hayden, May 2005.