Now y’all pull up a chair, because if your phone hasn’t tested your salvation this week, just wait your turn.
Between dropped calls, frozen screens, messages that show up three days late, and autocorrect turning “y’all” into something that looks like a NATO code, I have come to a very serious conclusion: we are no longer using our phones. Our phones are using us.
I am fully convinced the Russians and the Chinese have figured out the most effective way to rattle America’s nerves, and it didn’t involve tanks, missiles, or parades. No sir. They just figured out how to funnel North Korea straight through Verizon, T-Mobile, and AT&T and said, “Don’t destroy them. Just confuse them.
”And bless our hearts… it worked.
We cannot communicate with our phones anymore, and heaven knows we cannot communicate without them. Half of us are hollering “Can you hear me now?” like we’re calling hogs in a cornfield. The other half is replying to texts that weren’t meant for them, using emojis that escalate situations instead of calming them down. And somebody’s aunt is accidentally posting her grocery list on Facebook with a location tag.
We used to talk to each other. On porches. With sweet tea. Looking folks in the eye. Now we sit staring into little glowing rectangles like they’re gonna confess something if we just hold them long enough. We refresh the news we already read, argue with people we don’t know, and panic the minute the phone goes silent, convinced civilization is about to fold like a bad lawn chair.
If a foreign power wanted to make Americans lose their ever-loving minds, they wouldn’t need spies. They’d just need to mess with our signals, scramble the group chats, delay a few texts, and then step back and watch us eat each other alive over misunderstandings. We handle the rest just fine all by ourselves.
Somewhere right now, some tech folks are watching us reboot our phones for the sixth time, whispering threats at Siri, saying, “It never does this,” like the phone’s a faithful coonhound that just ran off with the neighbor.
Meanwhile, the old folks on the porch are sitting there calm as Sunday morning, shaking their heads and saying, “I told y’all. Too much technology. Not enough sense.
”At this point, I’m ready to bring back landlines, handwritten notes, and showing up unannounced with a pound cake. At least then when communication breaks down, you know who said what, who meant it, and who you’re mad at… and you can see their face while you fuss.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to restart my phone one more time. If it comes back speaking Russian, I’m done for the day and headed to the porch.
WHILE I BREATHE 