Methadone Phone:

The local dispensary needed to hire more tech help. The social workers who manned the desk (especially at three in the morning when the real hardcore users would come by for a fix) weren't very computer-savvy.

“My screen's locked out and I haven't been able to tweet for nearly six hours!" complained one woman who held out her defective device in a trembling hand.

Gina, who was on duty that Saturday night, took the phone as well as a deep, calming breath. Ok, she thought to herself, it'll be all right. Just go through the troubleshooting steps like you saw on the YouTube video. She looked at the device's frozen screen through the cracked glass and said to the woman, "Ok. It'll be all right."

“Do you think you can fix it? I'll wait while you do it. You don't think it'll need to be sent out for repairs, do you?"

Gina sighed and said, "I'll see what I can do. Go ahead and have a seat in the waiting area." The woman grabbed her torn and filthy Vera Bradley bag from the tiled floor and shuffled despondently into the waiting area. (That was a misnomer, really. It was just two plastic folding chairs perched against the wall outside Gina's office. Lake County Department of Health couldn't afford much more even with the highest taxes in the free world.)

Once the woman was seated and busying herself with chewing her thumbnail to the quick, Gina pulled up the woman's case file. The old Compaq Deskpro on Gina's desk whirred until the screen filled with green text that read: "Susan Meacham, DOB: 07/05/78, Address: 1050 Northcliffe Way, Lake Forest, IL 60045, Occupation: Marketing Director," and so on until Gina's eyes landed on Susan's enrollment date for the dispensary and the number of times she'd visited.

“Ma'am?" Gina called out through her office door, "I see here that you've visited our office fourteen times in the last month and a half!"

Great, Gina thought. Yet again I'll have to explain Lake County's 12 visit max per quarter. Anything in excess of that is billed directly to the client at ridiculous rates. Is it too much to expect her coworkers to have already broached this topic with the client once she exceeded 12? At least let the client know what kinds of costs they will be up against.

And the client is a marketing director. The absolute worst kind of techno-addict. Between social media updates, stock indices, and non-stop texts they virtually live with their phone attached to their hands. Gina glanced across the hallway to see for herself. Just as she thought; rough nails and a slight left thumb tremor - the first signs of a problem. Oh, but Susan is well past the early signs. She's a complete techno-addict. 14 visits in six weeks qualifies her for psychiatric intervention at this point.

“Susan? Come this way please and have a seat."

Susan picked up her bag with a slack hand which was attached to the arm which obviously favored holding her cell phone and no longer had the strength to manage a small quilted tote. She manically shuffled toward Gina's office and plopped down in the chair facing Gina. She stared unblinkingly at the broken phone Gina was holding, not once making eye contact.

“First of all, let me wish you a happy birthday, Susan" Gina always liked to start her interventions on a positive note and as a way to distract the client from their immediate withdrawal symptoms. Redirection. That was what she was taught in grad school.

“Have you made any plans for your big day? 40 this year, right?" Gina smiled at Susan warmly.

“My plans are all in that phone right there. Everything. My invite list, the party planners contact info, my pre-photoshopped images for Instagram to post tonight, pre-written tweets, even the html link for FaceBook to promote the baker in exchange for a discount on the cake. This is the worst. Birthday. Ever!”

Gina noticed that she'd inched backwards in her chair as Susan's voice rose with each social media dead end. There was an awkward silence before Susan relaxed a bit and sat back in her chair. Gina surreptitiously placed the phone behind her monitor and out of Susan's line of sight. "Well," said Gina, "I'm sure it's al backed up to the Shroud, right?"

“The what?" asked Susan.

“The Shroud. Backed up to the Shroud. You know, where everybody keeps their stuff nowadays."

“You mean: the Cloud!" shrieked Susan. "The Cloud!"

-- Gina gives Susan a loaner flip phone to use while her iPhone is being fixed. Susan is livid. She calls, Zane, her ‘dealer’ at the Apple Store. He balks about meeting her in person at the clinic, but she can’t find her way to the store without GPS (even though she’s been there a million times). She threatens Zane: “ Don’t fucking make me call Geek Squad!” Zane shows up at the clinic in his blue, collarless polo with the white Apple logo embroidered on the chest and his lumbersexual beard and porkpie hat perched atop his textured pomp fade with his ear gauges and Chukka boots. Gina is livid that Susan would be doing an off-program deal right here in the clinic.

-- One of the things Gina notices when she’s reviewing Susan’s case file is the 1.4 TB of data she used last month.

-- Possible ending: Susan gets impatient and calls Zane’s competitor at Samsung. The two dealers arrive at the clinic and fight, killing Susan and each other. Maybe Susan was going to pay for her new phone with cash because she couldn’t access PayPal and had maxed out her Visa. Very analog and acquired illegally, but she’s desperate. Once they’re all dead, does Gina take off with the money? Maybe the dealers and Susan take off after the altercation and someone leaves a brand new smart phone behind. Gina, who’s only ever used landlines and flip phones and dialup, picks it up and powers it on.

-- Maybe Gina scares Susan straight by telling her horror stories about other addicts. First: a suburban dad who stole from his kids to get his fixes. “He stole their lunch money?” “No. He stole their data. First, it was a gigabyte here, a gigabyte there, then, when they started to notice, he switched to other family members—his parents and siblings. When charges for petabytes started cropping up on people’s bills, the family decided it was time fir an intervention.” “Really? Was he given a strict allowance or something?” “Worse. They gave him a flip phone.” “Oh my God!”

-- The final story that Gina tells Susan is about a woman with severe data dependency during her pregnancy. When the baby was born, it was weak and sickly and trembling and shrieking constantly. The only thing that quieted it down was when a cell phone playing YouTube videos was placed in front of it.