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Typically, after my husband orders the car, he texts me a screenshot with the license plate and wait time. This time, though, the picture didn’t come through. I sent a throwaway text to see if I could prod the message out. Still nothing. Sheepishly, I called my husband back. It was after 10 p.m. The man just wanted to go to bed.

I anticipated that not having a smartphone would make me more reliant on other people — perhaps without Google Maps on hand, I’d have to ask an actual human for directions.

I don’t think any of this means smartphone-free living is untenable. On the contrary, perhaps the only way for us to recreate a society in which we don’t have to be tethered to these brain-rotting devices is for someone to take up the mantle of being a pain in the butt.

Fuck, I hope my smartphone doesn’t go down. Otherwise I’d have to act like a human!