Cell phones should come with a warning label and an etiquette book.

This has nothing to do with the ranch, but if I’m ever asked to contribute to a book on cell phone manners, I’d submit:

“If you happen to drive into a pedestrian who is crossing the street in front of you while you are supposed to be stopped at a red light but are so distracted by whatever phone call you think is so important that you don’t see said pedestrian and start to make a right hand turn, you should politely explain to whomever you were talking to that you need to (a) make sure the pedestrian is undamaged and (b) apologize. Under no circumstances should you continue the conversation in the belief that either you are, or the conversation is, important.”

It is also very poor manners to drive away without at least rolling your window down a crack and saying, “Oops. My bad.”

I don’t own a cell phone.

I am willing to admit that they have their uses. Certainly they are excellent for summoning emergency assistance (perhaps after hitting a pedestrian, for example), but I think it’s time for drastic anti-cell-phone action.

In the past three years I have been run off the road onto the shoulder by a cell-phone-chatting woman who didn’t notice that a half-ton truck happened to be in the lane she decided to change into. Fortunately, there was a wide shoulder.

Then, while stopped at a streetlight in Missoula, I took my foot off the brake pedal. Since I drive a stick shift, this meant the brake lights went off, but it didn’t mean I had started. The light was still red.

However, the person behind me was so busy talking on his cell phone that he evidently assumed I had started up, hit his accelerator and slammed into me.

That particular accident was not without its humorous side. There was a tiny smudge of red paint on my truck, but his little red car was probably totaled.

What is it that makes people feel they can’t survive without cell phones?

Frankly, I enjoy the quiet time of driving. It’s kind of like shoveling out the barn. You need to pay attention to what you’re doing, certainly, but it’s also an opportunity to think.

Maybe they don’t want to think. Maybe they can’t.

And as long as I’ve got a good rant going, the next time I see someone sitting glumly in a restaurant while their dinner partner is having a lengthy phone chat, I think I’ll invite the phoneless one to join me.

That could be risky, however. The odds are the silent partner probably has a cell phone, too, and one of those senselessly noisy rings will erupt.

One thing the left-turn incident confirmed, at least, is that my adrenaline supply is still ample.

Despite splitting wood, taking one of the ranch cats for a walk, eating an unnecessary pizza and speaking in a shrill and doubtless irritating tone, it took several hours before the adrenaline ebbed.

My temper is taking a little longer.

Lyndel Meikle works on a Deer Lodge area ranch.