Yesterday, during my morning walk, I encountered a total of eleven people. By “encountered,” I am referring to people who were on the same side of the street as I was and who were walking in the opposite direction.

Of the eleven people I encountered, NINE of them were talking on call phones while walking. Now, this was a Saturday morning, and from the smatterings of conversation I could hear before, during and after our brief encounter, none of them appeared to be a businessperson discussing business, unless, of course, you define “business” as an enterprise involving the wearing a ski mask and a using a gun, or the sale of narcotics, in which case, at least three of them fit the bill.

For a few minutes, I thought that the number of blabbers might only be eight, until I got closer to a woman blabber to see that she was blabbing into one of things that’s welded to your ear, enabling hands-free blabbing during all of one’s waking hours.

I found myself wondering what in Christ’s name was so important that it required these people to be blabbing while walking down the street on a Saturday morning. Then I figured that it must be that certain people have “free weekend minutes,” and maybe that’s what was going on, the mindset being that, if something is “free,” I want mine, and I want a lot of it — sort of like the “free government cheese” debacle years ago.

Call me insensitive, but I could not help but wonder how many of the cell phone blabber-walkers are currently receiving welfare. I would like to think that none of them are, but I’ve lived here long enough to have serious doubts about that.

Saturday morning, hands-free, blabber-walking. It’s a great country.