We are way too reliant on our phones.

There was a time when we didn’t even know we needed personal phone-computers. But we do now, and it sometimes feels like life and horrible, horrible death.

Insert Foot. Rendering: Adam Pardee/STAFF.

Case in point: I was in my old room from high school the other night and had two computers open, while dialing a vomit-green push-button phone on the wall.

I was two hours late for work and couldn’t remember my editor’s phone number. I couldn’t remember my phone number. I couldn’t remember the general phone number we printed in the newspaper every day.

I’d just go get that from the paper we no longer … had … delivered.

The editor who was briefly in charge of me many years ago didn’t like me then, and somehow lost the lottery and had me again. I couldn’t remember her/his email address. I was having an asthma attack, I’d say. I was supposed to cover something important but couldn’t remember what. Whatever it was, I was two hours late.

I remembered my office wasn’t there anymore. It closed, it moved … I don‘t remember. Oh, there it is–that big panic-inducing warehouse that looks like Costco. I’ll just go to the office. Oh, that’s right–my car wouldn’t start.

More asthma … I wheezed trying to talk to my editor on the vomit-phone, but she/he couldn’t hear me. Did she/he hang up on me? I needed a drink. But I don’t drink anymore. So why was this bottle in my dresser? I needed to go to the store, which I couldn’t do because I couldn’t breathe and my car won’t start. Oh MY GOD. MUSHROOM CLOUD ON HORIZON NO CONTROL ….

This really happened. In my head.

I woke up in my dark apartment. In 2021 and, I’m assuming, in this reality (though Marvel makes me wonder). What time was it?  I reached over to grab my phone … which wasn’t there.

That’s right, I thought. It’s at my friend’s house. That must be why that nuclear anxiety nightmare just almost killed me to death.

We are way too reliant on our phones.

The previous evening was very pleasant … until I got to my car and realized my phone was still inside. I went back and knocked on the door … not realizing the friend was in the back and already falling into a sleep-coma.

After knocking to the point of remembering she had neighbors and this is America, where everyone owns guns, I left. No biggie. I’ll just call tomorrow to let her know … from the landline I … no … longer … have.

I don’t know her phone number.

I don’t know anyone’s phone number.

Dear God … not only is my phone locked in her house, so is my watch (camera, address book, weather reporter, schedule keeper, where I put story ideas, track my health, store every idea I have, store every photo, check movie listings, get work calls, make work calls, communicate with editors who hate me, video chat, read the day’s news. Store every scrap of music I’ve collected the past decade, watch videos, check social media accounts, Christmas shop, buy books, etc..).

It’s gone.

My lungs constrict. Keep it together, pal. You’re not going to drink over your phone.

It was 6 a.m. and, luckily, my phone was at the home of the world’s most efficient human, who rises at 5 a.m. and walks five miles before the rest of us understand we lived through another night.

Hoping she started late (for her, not for the sun and normal people), I leaped out of bed, ran to my (cold) car, drove six miles, got to her place, knocked on the door … and saw it fly open as a freshly showered, highly efficient, morning-robot woman, thrust a hand at me … holding my phone.

“Looking for this?” she asked.

She had no idea.

The sun inched over the mountain, bringing life-inducing light and warmth. Birds sang … was that a deer, peacefully grazing below? Calm washed through me and the universe realigned. Peace returned.

We are way too reliant on our phones.

Follow music critic Tony Hicks at Twitter.com/TonyBaloney1967.