Just don't mess with my phone book

The object lying on my kitchen counter was like something from a twisted Disney flick.

Honey, I Shrunk the Phone Book.

Instead of my regular 11-inch-long directory, this year some trickster had left an 8-inch, Lilliputian version on my doorstep.

''What the heck is this?'' I asked my husband, opening a weirdly diminutive White Pages.

Big mistake. Instant eyestrain. The print was like a sheet of agate, the microscopic type usually reserved for baseball box scores. I had trouble making out the guide words at the top of the page, let alone individual entries.

Normally, I am Ralph Nader's worst nightmare when it comes to consumer courage. I have been the victim of moldy cheese, spoiled milk, ripped seams, loose buttons, and I don't make a peep. Call me easygoing or call me lazy, but most marketplace matters slide right by me.

Just don't mess with my phone book.

At this point some of you are saying, ''So I wasn't the only one who hated those things?'' And some of you are wondering what on earth I'm talking about.

That's because not all things are equal in telephone land. The gods who rule there chose my fellow Montgomerians and me as a test market for the ''mini book'' version of this year's directory. Those of you in Glendale, Greenhills, Mack and Sayler Park are squinting right along with us.

The rest of you are safe from eyestrain for now. But if we unwitting Bell lab rats don't speak up now, others may eventually be directory-downsized.

Do not ask for whom the Bell shrinks, it shrinks for thee.

Bell says book requested

Car-phone customers liked the smaller version so much they kept asking for copies for home, the spokespeople say. They assure me that 85 percent of sample populations preferred the smaller book.

I don't doubt their word for a moment. I just have to believe somebody's been marketing cell phones to eagles. Those of us with mere human eyesight take one look at the books and feel squint lines making permanent grooves in our faces.

For most of us, the issue is one of simple inconvenience. My profession requires me to use the directory a great deal and I find the new version highly unpleasant. Indeed, I loathe it.

The issue is of more consequence, however, to some groups of telephone users. I am thinking in particular of an elderly friend of mine.

''Did you see the new phone book?'' I ask, ringing her up via Bell.

''Yes, I kind of like the smaller size,'' she says optimistically. ''It seems like it might save trees or something.''

''What do you think of the print?'' I ask.

''I haven't looked inside,'' she replies.

A minute later she calls me back. ''This is terrible!'' she says. ''Why would anyone do this? I can't read this standing in strong light, with my glasses on and with a magnifying glass.''

New version useless

Bell officials assure me that anyone who requests it will receive a regular version of the Bell phone books. (Call them at 768-6555). They say they've been trying to get the word out. But no letter advising that came with my books and, although Bell officials assured me such information is in my new directory, I have never located it.

Maybe because the print is too small, I say, squinting.

My suggestion is that Good Mother Bell should pull out the larger type and bright red ink she uses for pages headed, ''Enhanced Services.'' I could easily make out the pitch for call waiting, forwarding, tracing, caller ID and speed dialing.

Call me prehistoric. Call me dial-impaired. All I want is a telephone book I can read.

Krista Ramsey's column appears in The Enquirer on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati 45202 or fax at 768-8340.

Published June 22, 1996.