Jamaica calling. It’s for you.

I’m sitting in a cafe when the cell phone of the guy next to me rings. Sigh. But, wait, his ring tone is a…steel drum? Cool. It’s like I’m sitting next to Harry Belafonte, headed to Kingston Town. This is so Putamayo world music-y that I half expect the guy to sing out, “Day-O!” He does not. Instead, he ratchets his cell phone voice up to obnoxious and launches into a play-by-play of his weekend. Harry would never be so rude.

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