By luck of the draw (or the gods' intervention), my apartment has the WORST cell phone reception known to man. Even worse than the dorm room my freshman year when T-Mobile hadn't yet glommed onto every cell phone tower in the Austin area. I get two bars of service, if I'm lucky but it's usually the dreaded "E" signal. We may chat for five minutes before the call is dropped. It's a convenient excuse to have for not talking long, particularly when I'm in my zone. This is my decompression time and trust me, you do not want to see what happens when all of that pressure builds up with nowhere to go. America may have an ice cream shortage at that point in time.
In other news, I'm never moving, not ever. What about you, what's your get-home ritual?