The bartender's first hoot is so clean and high-pitched it sounds piped in from the ceiling speakers — a single whooo that slices through the post-punk and clinking glassware. My friend Michael jolts on his barstool, beer sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Did you hear that owl?" he whispers.
"Not an owl," I say, matter-of-factly, wiping condensation from my glass before it drips onto the bar. The bartender, in his mid-30s with slicked-back hair and an immaculate black apron, lets out another whooo.
"It's Tourette's," I add quietly into his ear. He takes a long, slow swig of his hefeweizen, processing. I have a close family friend with a similar tic.
We let our conversation wander — plans for later that summer and the Lakers' offseason moves. Ten minutes in, he caves, as he usually does, checking a buzz from his pocket. He opens Instagram and stops, his confusion unmistakable.
"What?" I ask, leaning in as the bartender slides us our check.
Filling the screen of his iPhone 16 Pro Max, clad in a scuffed clear case, sits a sponsored post: "Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month. Donate Today."
Michael's voice drops into a register I don't usually hear outside ghost stories. "We literally just talked about Tourette's. How did I get this ad already?"
I manage a laugh that's only half genuine. "Your phone isn't listening to you." Even as I say it, I know how razor-thin the reassurance sounds. He signs the receipt, pockets the phone and mutters, "So if my phone isn't listening, then what is it?"
It's a question that has reverberated across countless conversations dating back to the start of the smartphone era two decades ago. Today's phones — from Apple's iPhone lineup to Androids from Samsung, Google, Motorola and others — are far more powerful and fully woven into the fabric of our daily existence, ever on standby to assist in all manner of tasks, but also reaching out to us through a steady stream of prompts and alerts.
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