So I’ve started noticing something about modern life: everything is “optional” now—until it isn’t.
Like, I’ll download an app and it’ll be like, “Would you like to enable notifications?”
And I’m like, “No, I don’t think I will.”
And the app goes, “Okay… but you’ll still get notified.”
That’s not an option—that’s a threat with extra steps.
And don’t get me wrong—I love technology. I just hate the way it talks to me like I’m an idiot.
My phone is always suggesting things like it’s my coach.
It’s like: “Based on your recent activity, you may be interested in…
‘How to remember passwords.’”
Wow, thank you. That’s so kind. My phone is basically a therapist for my worst habits.
Speaking of passwords—why are we still doing this?
Every website is like, “Create a strong password. Use at least one uppercase letter, one lowercase letter, a number, and a symbol.”
Okay. And also—can I get one vague emotional requirement?
“Must express humility.”
“Must demonstrate personal growth.”
“Must be lowercase but with confidence.”
And why does it always make me change it every few months?
It’s like, “Your password is compromised.”
No it isn’t. My password is fine.
What’s compromised is the concept of consistency.
Then I forget it immediately and I’m locked out like I’m in prison, but for being forgetful.
You ever try to reset a password at midnight? It’s the worst.
You’re in your kitchen, staring into the fridge like, “Help me… help me… I don’t know what I did.”
And it always asks a security question like it’s trying to catch you.
“What was the name of your first pet?”
I don’t know! My first pet was a memory I had in 1999!
I was twelve! I thought the moon was a cheese!
And the website is like, “Incorrect.”
Okay, well—my first pet was actually a goldfish, and it died the way my aspirations die: overnight and without warning.
Now, let’s talk about customer service. Customer service used to be a person.
You’d call a number, get a human, and they’d be like, “Sure, I can help.”
Now it’s a whole ritual.
“Welcome to support. For account access, press one.”
Press one for what? My soul?
“Press two for billing.”
Billing for what! My feelings?
“Press three to speak to a representative.”
I press three and it’s like, “All representatives are currently assisting other customers.”
Other customers… in what? A different dimension where the website works correctly?
It’s never, “We’ll connect you shortly.” It’s always, “Thank you for your patience,” which is corporate for:
“We hope you give up.”
And then—after you’ve wasted twenty minutes—someone finally answers and they go, “Hi! How can I help today?”
And you’re like, “Well… I pressed three at the beginning, and now I think we’re both trapped.”
Also, why is everyone always tracking everything?
My watch knows my heart rate. My phone knows my location. My bank knows my spending.
Sometimes I feel like the only person who doesn’t have data is me.
I’ll be doing something normal, like buying coffee, and then my bank sends a notification like:
“Unusual activity detected.”
Unusual? I’m allowed to have a life.
And the coffee shops are no better!
They’ve gone from “small, medium, large” to “espresso, oat mist, cloud foam, existential urgency.”
I go in like, “Can I just get a medium coffee?”
And they look at me like I asked for a fax machine.
They’re like, “We don’t do mediums.”
Okay, so what do you do?
Do you do “quarter past medium”?
Do you do “medium adjacent”?
Everything has become too personalized. Even the self-checkout machines.
They act like they’re mad at me.
I scan the item and it’s like, “Unexpected item in bagging area.”
I’m sorry! I didn’t realize the machine could detect my shame.
Then it plays that little “attention” sound, like a dog in a documentary.
And suddenly there’s a staff member hovering nearby like, “We noticed you purchased… feelings.”
To be fair though, I’ve learned how to survive it.
I’ve made peace with modern life the way you make peace with a cat: by acting confident and knowing it will ignore you anyway.
Because in the end, none of this is really about convenience.
It’s about control.
The only thing I truly want—just one simple question that doesn’t lead to another question.
Like… “Did you order the thing?”
Just answer yes or no!
No follow-up survey. No security verification. No “We noticed your answer and we have concerns.”
Anyway, I’m doing great. I’m happy. I’m thriving.
And if you don’t hear from me again… it’s because I forgot my password.
