Put Down Your Fucking Phone!

Date 1

“That’s awesome, I saw them a few months ago. Checking out any other concerts soon?”

Awkward silence.

Longer awkward silence.

Even longer awkward silence.

What seems like an eternity of silence.

The Earth Ends in a catastrophic ball of fire, holy crap Global Warming might have done…

She looks up. “Umm… yeah.

She looks back down at her phone.

This is an actual conversation I had at a bar a few weeks ago. Though I can’t really say it was a conversation. It was more talking, then waiting, and thinking, then wondering, and more thinking, then looking around, and then ages later, nope still waiting. Then finally my date would answer.

So, not the greatest first date.

But surprisingly, she was actually really cool (from what I could tell). She was cultured, trilingual, well-traveled, athletic, passionate about work and life, her backstory was surprisingly inspiring, and… The list goes on.

We had met out at a bar the week before. I was hanging with some friends and moving on to the next venue and she was staying with hers. She was cute, I’m annoying, very annoying, so I walked over and got her name and her number and I asked her for drinks next week. We texted sparingly. I met her near the train and we walked fifteen minutes to the bar. There was no small talk, just real conversation.

But the phone. The fucking phone.

She had her phone in her hand the entire time. Not twenty seconds would go by before she unlocked it and started scrolling through Instagram, then Facebook, then Twitter.

We made it to the bar. I shrugged it off. Maybe she wouldn’t be addicted to it. After all she seemed pretty great.

From the moment we were seated her phone went right next to her hand. Smack dab in the middle of the table. Great.

During our entire conversation it lingered, sucking her hand closer, and closer, and closer, until she couldn’t resist. With ungodly speed she unlocked it, slid her hand to grasp her PopSocket and in a nano-second was halfway through her Instagram feed.

Silence.

More silence.

Fuck, these cocktails are fire.

More silence.

“What?”

The phone goes back down. And another thirty seconds of excellent uninterrupted conversation.

She was witty, and actually quite engaging when her soul wasn’t being consumed by that demonic device. And she had an insanely cute smile. Damn, it was a killer smile.

Date 2

A little less phone on the way to the bar this time.

Solid.

“You said you’re into The Avengers. Want to see Guardians of the Galaxy 2 this weekend?

“Hmm.”

“Guardians of the Galaxy 2. Do you want to see Guardians of the Galaxy 2.”

“Wait, what?”

“Guardians. Of. The. Galaxy. Number. Two. Do you want to go?”

“Yeah, I heard you. What about it?

I’m going to refrain from including a picture of Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman raising the gleaming axe high above his head, high velocity blood spatter already drenching his hands, face and chest.

I think the metaphor suffices.

At that point I said good night. I threw some bills down for drinks and got the hell out of there.

Yeah, cash. You know the stuff that’s not plastic and you leave at the bar every Saturday?

At this point I haven’t texted her back.

But she does have a killer smile, shit.

Silence.

More silence.

“What?”