He or she has an out-of-state cell number.

Suddenly, you have visions of next month's phone bill. No, more like nightmares.

You start dreaming up reasons why this person might not be so great after all.

"Gee, their predilection for white, canvas tennis shoes makes them somewhat untrustworthy."

"Gosh, I really don't like the way they nose-breathe."

An out-of-state cell number wouldn't be a problem anywhere else, but of course, it is in Alaska. It's a big problem - an itching, annoying, quarter-a-minute problem - if you're unfortunate enough to have a "statewide" plan that charges 25 cents for the 49 other states.

It shouldn't cost $3.75 to make a 15-minute cell phone call to a friend in town, much less anywhere in the United States.

Trust me, you can get better rates to Nepal by purchasing an international phone card at any of the downtown shops where the cruise ship crews hang out all day talking to their relatives in Namibia.

But here, businesses thrive by monopolizing the small market and concocting surreal rate structures based on imaginary geographic and/or shipping obstacles.

"Why is the sandwich $9.50? Due to the ... er ... rising cost of mustard."

"Why is the pint of beer $4.75 - $6 with a tip? Um ... because of the magical, penny-pinching golems that live under Vanderbilt Hill Road."

The same sad story applies to cellular telephone providers, which is why there are two types of transplants in town.

(1) Those who move here and plan to purchase an in-state cell phone plan with one of those recognizable 321, 209 or 635 Juneau prefixes.

(2) Those who have absolutely no intention of parting ways with their long-distance "national plan" in which every call to a national number, even those in Alaska, is the same rate.

I was in camp No. 1 when I moved to town. That's mainly because, at the time, my phone did not sync with the networks up here and was always roaming.

But moreover, establishing a local number seemed like the right thing to do. I thought it inconsiderate to impose a long-distance call on others.

I looked at camp No. 2 with disdain. Who did they think they were? It was almost as if they wanted to claim the status of living in Alaska, but weren't fully ready to embrace it. These people were half-and-half. They had one foot out the door. You could spend six months getting to know them, and they'd be gone the next day.

In the last two years, their numbers have swelled. Now half the people in town under 35 have an out-of-state number, and the real question is what the other half are thinking.

Really, why do people sign two year-contracts with Alaska providers and pay a quarter for long-distance service when more affordable Verizon and AT&T plans work, non-roaming, on the towers in town?

Sadly, it's worth keeping that other foot in the Lower 48 even if it means screwing over everyone you know in town with a local plan. That's not mean. That's just another symptom of Alaska's backwards business.

• Korry Keeker can be reached at 523-2268 or korry.keeker@juneauempire.com.