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Plates with croissants and bagels were scattered about, while half-filled glasses of water sweated with condensation, their ice cubes having long since melted.
I wondered how long they’d been here. On a Saturday, no less.
“You don’t have to worry, Easton. We’re fine,” I heard Marek say, and I shot my eyes back over to him. “Apology accepted, but my e-mail does still stand.”
I rubbed my thumbs across my fingers, trying to remember what he was referring to.
He’d called me Easton.
“I’m against a fourteen-year-old on social media, and I can’t imagine I’m the only parent uncomfortable with it.” His tone was firm but gentler than it had been on the phone. “Adjustments will have to be made.”
Ah, back to this.
I kept my face even, about to suggest again that we sit down and talk through this, because I wasn’t giving up, but someone else spoke up first.
“Social media?” a man to my right asked. “Jesus, Facebook has taken over my kids’ lives. It’s all they do,” he blurted out, chiming in on the conversation and looking around to his colleagues. “You know, my sixteen-year-old actually wants a mount in the shower with waterproof casing for his phone. I’m surprised he hasn’t glued it to his hand.”
I hooded my eyes, focusing on a spot on the table and hearing laughter sound off around me as everyone started backing Marek up.
“It’s an epidemic,” a woman agreed. “And dangerous. Do you know how many sexual predators find their victims online?”
Do you know how many victims of sexual predators drink water? Ban water!
Grunts of approval chimed in, and I could feel myself losing the moment of relief I’d felt when he’d accepted my apology.
My fists tightened, and I knew I needed to leave. Now.
“Exactly,” someone else replied. “The more we put ourselves out there, the more disconnected we are from real life. I’m sick of seeing people’s faces buried in their phones.”
“Complete time suckage.” Jay shook his head, speaking up. “And kids have no attention spans anymore because of it.”
I no longer liked Jay.
I glanced at Marek, who watched me with a hint of a smile on his face as the wall against me grew higher and higher.
“And there are so many stories where kids are getting bullied,” another gentleman droned, “or put in danger because of it. I mean, has being able to Instagram what you had for lunch really made our lives better?”
Everyone started laughing, and every muscle in my body tensed like steel.
“Kids don’t need social media,” someone maintained. “Not until they’re old enough…”
Yada, yada, yada… I stopped listening. Everyone continued sharing their own two cents, but I just stood there looking at him.
He held my eyes, his mouth opening slightly as he raised the glass to his lips and took a small drink of water. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed and confident, because he knew he’d gotten what he wanted.
He still didn’t see me as a capable woman. He still didn’t respect me.
And when his eyes started falling down my body, raking over my waist and down to my bare thighs, I knew that he wanted something else.
The only thing he thought I was good for.
I inhaled a sharp breath and held up my hands, cutting everyone off in the middle of their rants. “You’re absolutely right,” I told them, my voice hard. “You’re all absolutely right.”
I offered a tight smile and looked around the table, everyone having gone quiet.
“Social media is a double-edged sword, bringing both advantages and” – I looked at Marek – “definite concerns. I agree with you,” I placated.
Marek cocked his head, looking at me with interest as everyone gave me their full attention.
“However,” I stated matter-of-factly, “it is here to stay. Whether you like it or not,” I added.
I lifted my chin and let my eyes wander around the table as I began to circle. “We live in a data-driven world, and it is not something that will change.”
I walked slowly around the table, speaking to everyone and feeling Marek’s eyes on me.
“Let me break this down for you,” I told them, crossing my arms over my chest and speaking slowly. “Every time we get a text or a tweet or a Facebook notification,” I explained, “we get a shot of adrenaline. The constant influx of information has become an addiction – like a drug – and when our phones beep or light up, we get a small rush.”
I met their eyes.
“And like all drugs, it isn’t long before we need our next fix.” And I gestured to their phones on the table as I spoke. “Which is exactly why you all brought your phones into this meeting with you right now instead of leaving them in your own offices,” I speculated. “Sooner rather than later, you know you’re going to feel that desperation, which will prompt you to check for a new e-mail or message. You’re addicted to the information, same as your children.”
“But in school?” a woman burst out. “Why should they have phones in school or be allowed to play around on social media for homework?”
“Because you let them have it at home,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone gentle. “Do you expect the craving for it to end when they step onto school grounds?”
She twisted her lips and sat back in her chair.
“How does a teacher compete with the kind of hold social media has over his or her students’ attention?” I asked them. “Because even if they’re forced to be without their phones, they’re thinking about their phones. They’re hiding them. They’re texting under their desks. They’re sneaking to the bathroom to use them…” I trailed off, hopefully proving that the battle was real.
