The Area Code was well established by the time I was starting to learn phone numbers. I do remember having an area code change on me as a kid in Southern California, and remember when, after moving to Denver, we went through the “trauma” of overlaying the new 720 on the classic 303, which ushered in local 10-digit dialing.
But what fascinates me most about area codes today is the extent to which they no longer (on mobile phones, at least) reflect where you are, but where you are originally from (or even where you want to be seen as being from). As I’ve been doing a lot more entering of phone numbers into my contacts list, I’ve been fascinated by “Oh, he’s got a 513 mobile number — I wonder where he originally got that?” (Cincinnati)
Indeed, with persistent phone numbers carried over time and even across carriers, phone number has become a sort of voluntary persistent user ID. A number of systems (esp. ones designed around mobile devices) use that mobile number to identify you, something that works until you decide to change it (or if you’re using off-the-shelf reloadable phones — an interesting economic distinction in the making).
What fascinates me almost as much is how, that aspect aside, nobody much cares any more. I know my home number, my mom’s home number (because it used to be mine), my mobile number, and my wife’s mobile number (again, because it used to be mine). (I also still remember the phone number of the house we lived in growing up.) Everything else is in a contacts list of some sort, programmed into the phone, or otherwise memorized by a machine. I have to look up my kid’s mobile number all the time, just to be sure I’m writing it down on a form correctly. When/if we ever have to add an additional digit to the North American Numbering Plan, nobody will really have to sweat it.
The Unexpected Logic Behind Area Codes
Why aren’t they laid out in an obvious way, like ZIP Codes are?
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