I don’t know about you but I am VERY distractable. Social Media has a lot to answer for, as does the constant availability of WiFi and phone signals.
A Lemn Sissay poem from ‘let the light pour in’ put it particularly well:
Last night I had a nightmare
Imprisoned by my clone
I watched him tap the screen
I was trapped inside his phone
This story popped into my thoughts during one of my many ‘annoyed with myself’ moments.
The noise alert was keeping it social, hanging out with an accompanying vibration. It’s good to have a friend who makes sure you don’t miss out on the good stuff. Well, any stuff. [buzz] … [beep] … a classic 1994 Nokias ringtone. Who cares as long as your eye is being drawn back to the notifications.
Long fingers and manicured nails were held up in the face of her crew as she scrolled through emoji-rich responses to her latest “feeling cute, might delete later” shot, slight pout, body twisted, best side shown. Ironic, she guessed, getting a buzz out of notifications. A selfie of what she hoped was a ‘pleased with myself’ face was launched into her feed in a blur of keystrokes, immediately rewarded with a steady hum of appreciative alerts. The kindness of strangers, she called it. Not out loud. Mostly to herself but just as often with a hashtag attached as she humble-bragged her way through a life spent with her head in the Cloud. She was a long way past just loving those likes. She craved them. Needed them. The white knuckles clenching her pink glitter handset told anyone who got close enough that she had to have those little red hearts to pump life force into her system. There was a first fix as soon as she woke to keep her wired until she scored later for the fresh sensations that coursed through her body. Posts, stories … a conveyer-belt of creativity pushed by other desperate addicts, consumed intravenously for an instant high. It all played out in ‘reel’ time with her as the star of her show. Look at me, it said. Like me. Do you see me? Do you like me like this?
She framed herself in the window of the shopping mall juice bar, imagining how she’d look in portrait as someone scrolled. Imagining them scrolling, stopping, liking, sharing her to their stories. While she daydreamed, her crew drifted, scattered now between New Look, TKMaxx and that new coffee shop with the insouciant barista whose attention they clamoured for. By the time she arrived to order an oat milk latte she knew would sport an Insta-ready heart, the girls had long gone. She shrugged. They’d text later, lightly-shaded friendships expressed in a thin veneer of shorthand hidden amidst the vacuous noise of an online ‘social’ life.
You didn’t need to look up from your screen to hear a coffee cup sliding along the counter. Her “thanks, babe” assumed nothing, casually delivered to whoever.
“I like your hair like that”. The young man’s voice, smooth as caramel, grated on the silent screenplay she had written for herself.
She scrolled more urgently, anxious that the feed wasn’t refreshing.
He persisted gently, “and the way you tuck it behind your ear when you’re concentrating”. He liked that for once she wasn’t with the cackling brood who pecked away, reducing him to eye candy, someone to fluff up their egos. He tried his most disarming smile. Nothing. Maybe she was wearing ear pods?
She barely registered her surroundings as two fingers swept ever more frantically across an increasingly grubby screen. Nothing. Heart racing, eyes widening, she had to fight to control her breath.
“Are you alright?”, he asked. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
She looked up, seeming to spot him for the first time. Her hand moved away from the phone, self-consciously tucking hair behind her ear. The sigh was obvious, one of exasperation. “The WiFi has crashed!”, she blurted out, the sharp edge in her voice slicing at his confidence.
He smiled, thinking how weird it would be in the future to tell the story of her first words to him. Because, somehow, he knew there’d be a future.
“Uh, can you reboot it or something, maybe just give me the code”, she asked, all the time wondering how such a good looking guy could be so annoying. “Any time”.
Turning his back on her, he reached for the piece of card he’d typed this morning as he prepared to open his coffee shop. He knew what it said, relished the words.
[We are a no WiFi café. Take some time away from the screen and talk to a human]
Her eyes bored into him, watching as his broad shoulders seemed to suggest he was amused.
“Are you laughing at me?”
He turned and quietly slid the card over the counter, watching as she registered the typewritten words. Her eyes moved down the page, thoughts racing as she digested his handwritten addition …
“My name is Josh, and this may be the most important ‘like’ of the day. I like you. Maybe we could hang out. No phones.”
A lovely story, Barrie. It's actually much more compelling to read of such modern digital-age terminology when it's all crammed into one story: swipes and likes and refreshes comprise a language I don't really wish to see inserted into the things I read or write; but condensed, here, within the framing of a boy-meets-girl story, is really very good.
Oh, oh oh. These poor poor women who don't even know how miserable they are, how fake their lives are. What a terrible way to live. "Look at me, it said. Like me. Do you see me? Do you like me like this?" Unable to live without constant validation! I am sorry for them. I, myself have never owned a cell phone and am not on any social media. I know there is a HUGE social presence on Substack now, but it does not tempt me, EXCEPT for commenting on others' excellent writing -- such as this post. You did an amazing job here, writing about the mind of a young addict in 2025. I can't imagine how you did it.