Cell Phone-a-holics Anonymous

Hi, my name is Chelsea, and I’m a cell phone-a-holic,” she stoically announced to the group, standing nervously, and rocking back and forth in her rhinestone cowgirl boots, her hands stuck in the pocket of her ripped, boot-legged jeans.

“Hi, Chelsea,” the group replied in flowery unison.

“Chelsea, we’re so happy to have you with us,” announced Julia, the group’s leader. “Our policy is that we don’t force anyone to talk until they’re ready. If you’d like to tell us your story now, you’re welcome to do so. Or, if you prefer to share later, that’s fine too. We pride ourselves on making this a safe place for everyone.” She flashed a warm sisterly smile at Chelsea.

“Thank you,” Chelsea said, setting a new record for how quickly a person could sit down. It took her months to summon the courage to attend one of these meetings, and she wasn’t ready to be the bell of the cell phone-a-holics ball just yet.

Chelsea finally accepted that she was addicted to her phone when she was fired from her job. She dropped her phone on an unpaved area of the local park while jogging. The repair cost was $250 without insurance, which she didn’t have. 

As a single mom of two growing boys, she lived paycheck to paycheck. Borrowing money from friends or family wasn’t an option since everybody she knew was strapped financially themselves. 

She could have it in seven days, her next payday. Something else would have to go unpaid, but she would find a way to make it work. However, seven days without her favorite companion felt like a prison sentence to her.   

Without her cell phone, she struggled to focus. She was jittery and felt empty, naked, and vulnerable. She was lost—a woman without an identity or a home. Her mood darkened, and she became increasingly erratic, snapping easily at her kids, neighbors, landlord, and anyone else who got in her way. 

The problem worsened when her frustration seeped into her attitude at work, causing her job performance to suffer. Her uneasy and agitated demeanor repelled customers, and her sales plunged immediately. 

The breaking point came when she blew up at her supervisor on the sales floor in front of, not only other employees, but also customers. She was perp walked out of the building that afternoon. 

“ I’m anxious to hear how your assignment went,” Julia said. Chelsea tried hard not to be distracted by Julia’s neon orange T-shirt with the shimmering iridescent words ‘Who Died and Made You GOD?” on it. “What happened when you left your cell phone in the middle of the table while you were eating dinner? Who wants to go first?” 

Robbie’s hand went up.

“Robbie, go ahead.”

“It was rough, I’m not even going to lie. It was like somebody put a vacuum in my gut and sucked all the air out of it. I got lightheaded and almost passed out. My wife was so scared, she hurried up and gave it back to me like a mama gives a baby a bottle. I lasted about 10 minutes—10 minutes longer than I thought I would.”

Nodding heads expressed their understanding and agreement.

“I’d say that’s progress, Robbie.” Julia led the group in a collective clap.

“Yeah, I get that dude,” Nate chimed in. It was tough for me too, but my kids held me up. When they saw the sweat break out on my forehead, they were like, ‘Dad, you wanna play a game?’ So, we played Monopoly. The struggle was still real, but playing a game definitely helped distract me from the phone, a little. I’m ashamed to say, but I don’t remember the last time I played a game with my kids. It felt good, ya know?”

Energetic claps and smiles followed.

“That must have been very satisfying, Nate,” said Julia.

“It was.” His voice cracked. He coughed and squirmed in his seat, diverting attention from his reaction to that nostalgic moment. 

“Well, Ms. Julia. I must say that I thought this exercise was cruel,” said Ms. Karissa, the rebellious, bougie one in the group. “You don’t put crack in front of a crack addict and tell them to resist it, and you don’t put chocolate in front of a choc-a-holic and tell them not to eat it. Nevertheless, in the spirit of being open-minded, I was willing to give it a try.”

Chuckles emerged from the group, even Julia.

“I threw the phone on the table and dashed out of the house for an evening walk with Charles. This time, I couldn’t care less that my makeup wasn’t properly primed and set or that I wasn’t wearing the latest athletic gear. I was just trying to survive the hour. In my haste, I was careless and didn’t adequately gauge my surroundings. And I tripped over the garden hose,” she stated, placing both hands on her chest.

“Oh, my goodness! Are you okay?” Julia inquired.

“It was horrid. But I’m fine. Thank you,” she offered in her signature Emmy Award-winning style. Thank God my husband was with me, and he took me to the emergency room immediately.

“I scarred my arm,” she said, rolling up her silk sleeve and holding her arm up to reveal a 1-inch microscopic scar to the group. She displayed it as if she were proudly showing off a picture of her grandbaby. On cue, there was a collective “oooh.” Everyone wanted to appease her in their own mocking way.

“I know. I know. The nurse told me that the scar would heal in about a week. Thank God there was no infection. I may have to get plastic surgery, however. I’m sure you understand that I am averse to scars of any kind.”

Good Lord, give it a rest, Susan Lucci, thought Chelsea. I didn’t know that membership in this group came with a subscription to a soap opera. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, she giggled inwardly.

Others struggled to keep from laughing out loud and covered their mouths.

“But I shall press on like the valiant little solder that I am.” Eyes rolled around the room.

Soldier? Thought Robbie. I would go AWOL if you were in my platoon. 

“In closing,” she continued as if delivering the keynote address at a chamber of commerce event, “it wasn’t until I returned home that I realized I didn’t have my cell phone with me at the hospital. It’s amazing how suffering can distract you from something you think you can never live without.”

They applauded, not so much in response to what she said, but rather in the hope that their affirming applause would make her cease and desist from speaking further.

“Before we wrap up, let’s go around the room, and everyone, please share one or two takeaways from tonight’s session,” Julia instructed. The group followed their well-liked leader’s directive. 

“Excellent session tonight, team. I’m so proud of the progress you’re making. Who would like to close us out in prayer?”

When Ms. Karissa raised her hand, four people jumped to their feet simultaneously, saying, ‘I’ll do it.’ They were in no mood for a self-serving monologue disguised as a sacred prayer.

Julia cleared her throat and said, “Why don’t I do it?” calming the commotion. “Let’s bow our heads, please.”

The End

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