I’ve come to eulogize an old friend. The waiting room magazine is dead. Long live the beep-beep, click-click, tap-tap of the outpatient smartphone!
Sick people used to avoid eye contact at the doctor’s office with a dogeared People, a tattered Men’s Health, an Us Weekly fresh from the bathroom. Now they stare down at their phones, mesmerized by their own importance. Oh, another text. You must be loved.
How will I know who’s going to win the 2011 World Series? Does Mitt Romney have enough of the women’s vote to beat Obama?
The waiting room magazine takes us back in time, far away from the exhausting omnipresence of Now. We don’t believe in yesterday. Tomorrow’s just an auto-update away.
Even the Pope takes selfies. Heaven help us if he tweets Cross emojis when the next shipment of communion wafers arrives.