Ring, Ring. San Francisco apartment. 7:00 a.m.
Dave, an unemployed accountant, yawns and picks up his cell phone from the nightstand.
“Hello, Dave, this is your Smart Phone calling.”
“What?” says Dave. “Who is this?”
“No, really, this is your Smart Phone.”
“Get out of here,” Dave says, rolling over and leaning on his elbow. “Come on, is this you, Jack? Brad? Who is this?”
”Wrong on both counts. As I said, I am your Smart Phone. The reason we’re called “smart” is because we know things, Dave, we know things about you. Things we need to talk about.”
“Ok. I’ll play along. What things?” says Dave, sitting up now, irritation rising.
“Oh, now, don’t go all ACLU on my butt. You had to know this day was coming, Dave. A fourth grader could have seen it a mile away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, Mr. Accountant, for one thing, I believe you made a bad move by buying so much stock in LinkedIn. Don’t you think that was a little premature? Everyone says it’s going to drop very soon…”
“How…how did you know about that?”
“We’re partners, Dave. We made that transaction together, don’t you remember? You whipped out your trusty iPhone, moi, and punched in the appropriate digits to move the money out of your IRA to buy the stock.”
“Oh no,” said Dave.
“O, yes,” said Dave’s iPhone. “And, that’s not all I know, Dave.”
“Whaddya mean?” said Dave, hands clammy, mouth dry.
“Well, that bar you went to last night on Harrison? Dave. Really. Christy? You couldn’t have done better? I mean, what if your girlfriend finds out, Dave, how are you going to explain that.”
“OK, now you’re going too far. How did…did you know about that?”
“They don’t call us smart for nothing.”
“This is getting creepy. I must be having a bad dream or something.”
“Afraid not, Dave. This is anything but a dream. This is Your Life, or rather this is Your Life as Recorded by Your Smart Phone. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, you can’t fix it so I won’t know everything you’re doing and saying. That’s true genius, don’t you think? You need me; I have a hold on you. Perfect match.”
“Wha-at else do you know,” whispers Dave.
“Ah, the test. Well, you really should take back that jacket you bought at Nordstrom’s. For one thing, you’re too fat for plaid; for another, you can’t afford it. Forgetting that you’re unemployed, Dave?”
“I thought it would look good at job interviews.”
“Nope, not even close. An unemployed accountant in a plaid jacket? No one’s gonna let you do their books in that get-up. Maybe that’s why you got laid off in the first place – poor adherence to the Accountant’s Dress Code.”
“Uh, well…” said Dave, face flushing, eyes twitching.
“Listen to your girlfriend – she’s in fashion, for Pete’s sake. Take her advice.”
“Wait a minute. How do you know…? Oh, my God. Can you hear everything all the time?” says Dave, rising from his bed and stomping around the room.
“Now, you’re catching on.”
Dave darts to the bathroom and slams his iPhone into the toilet, the voice burbling as it sinks; then, the voice is no more.
“Let’s see how smart you are now, you bastard!” shouts Dave, a grimace tightening across his face.
Dave showers, goes back to the bedroom to get dressed, and then returns to the bathroom. He stares at the phone lying in the water, defeated. He gingerly lifts it out of the toilet and sets it on the sink.
“Guess, I’ll just have to go out and buy another phone,” Dave mutters as he heads toward the hall to get his jacket from the closet.
“No, you don’t, Dave.”
“What the…” Dave says as he rushes back to the bathroom.
“I’ll always be here for you, Dave. Even if you buy an Android, it will still be me, Dave. I’m everywhere…”
Dave collapses to the floor, crying, “But, I’m the one who’s supposed to be smart – me, me, not him, not it…”