I remember when I was a little kid and cordless phones were suddenly a thing. Communicating without wires was magic. I had a Dukes of Hazzard walkie-talkie, which could sometimes be relied upon to transmit static from the back yard to the front, but cordless telephones were a whole nother ball of wax. My mother bought one for my grandparents, a hunk of heavy plastic with an antenna that must have extended three feet. We tested it out before we mailed it to them in Florida, and I felt like Buck Rogers talking to the moon. Much later, when I was in high school and cordless phones had metamorphosed into fussy devices with built-in answering machines, I worked at the electronics counter of a department store. I sold those and cassette Walkmans and electric typewriters with built-in correction tape. I sold a satellite phone that was the size of two bricks taped together and cost over a thousand dollars.
Now, I am old, and I jab people with needles for a living. And I have an iPhone. The end.