When you call my cell I won't answer. I won't be available.

There is really no need to leave me a voice mail expressing your concern for me not answering despite your numerous attempts to raise me. I'm just out mowing.

The email you send will go unanswered for about two hours. I'm not available.

If you think that maybe a text message to my cell will work, just in case I'm in a meeting or something and can't take a voice call, don't bother, I am out mowing.

IMing me over and over will do very little good. I don't carry my laptop with me on the mower.

You don't have to tell me that you tried me at the office and I wasn't there either. I know where I am, and I'm mowing my yard.

Sure, my Treo is on and it is getting your Push to Talks, but I'm wearing earplugs and can't hear them. Plus the Treo is in the house.

My voice mail instructs you to push a key to page me I know. Since I didn't answer your call or email or text or voice mail or IM or PTT I know you think that maybe a page will get me. It won't. It is difficult to wear electronic devices while riding a mower because they fall off a lot and since I'm out riding around on a mower I'm not wearing any.

Over the course of the next couple of hours you will just have to acclimate yourself to being unable to reach me. I know it will be difficult to refrain from initiating a stream of increasingly panicked communiques sent over wire and airwave, router lights driven mad with the little packets that represent your ceaseless effort to determine whether I'm OK or have been killed by bandits, robbed of all my electronic gear, and left to rot in the sun. Visions flitting through your head of what kind of horriffic disaster would have to befall someone before they could be totally unreachable for comment.

How could I ignore the moronic bleating of my cell phone for a whole two hours?

The interruption of instant and immediate conact with any other human being in the United States is cause for alarm.

Call the police.