I’ve come to the realization recently that I am only a productive blogger when I want to make fun of the pitfalls of my otherwise sunny-side-up life. I’ve deemed mild inconveniences like having to speak French in France or sobbing with John Lennon glasses on or being harassed a record twelve times in two hours (post coming soon to an under-utilized blog near you) as highly satisfying enough to share with the digital public. While these have been personal experiences, today I would like to speak about an issue that has captured the attention of the general public since the mid 2000s: broken phones.
Now on my fourth broken phone, I can say with conviction that there are virtually zero disturbances when you don’t have a phone to provide you instantaneous gratification and distraction. With my phone out of service, I am forced to do actual things with my time instead of worrying about the race and gender dynamics of travel photography on Instagram. I’ve already written an in-depth analysis on how technological memory is just as fallible as human memory, thus enhancing the ontological arguments that Ms. Bowers taught me in grade 12 philosophy. I’m more social already, as exemplified in the party I attended Friday night, armed with a flip book of sticky notes so I wouldn’t miss out on asking for people’s numbers and giving out my email address.
One of the greatest pros when rendered phoneless is a distortion of my sense of time. This may seem disorienting, but in fact has endless benefits. Firstly, I get to sleep in every day because I don’t have an alarm to wake me up! Time is a colonial construct, so I am actually subverting imperialism by refusing to help my situation and purchase an alarm clock which would mean supporting both colonialism and capitalism. Furthermore, there’s this fun game I like to play in public where I find the most attractive boy in my vicinity and ask him what time it is. If you want to play, all you have to do is ensure you don’t wear a watch!
However, if you do decide to play this fun game, ensure that you choose a boy who will not take advantage of your phonelessness. I can’t deny how unnerved I feel when I’m walking home alone at night and notice a man staring at me from across the street. Something makes me grip my keys tighter in my pocket and briefly wonder if such thoughts are the products of gender-based violence within a society that renders women inferior, or simply my overactive writerly imagination.
The only way to go forth from this grounding experience is to share these humbling lessons by recommending to all of my dearest friends and family to go throw your phones in a lake or something. Or maybe do what I did: try to back up your phone because you fear losing all your important things, and in the process have the software crash on you, thus permanently deleting all your data and any possibility of restoration. If you’ve read this post and still insist on living with a phone, I just want you to know that you’re really missing out on the chance for a wholesome life.
Also, um, does anyone have a spare phone I can borrow for a few days?