Henny Penny, the sky isn’t falling. That’s just your doom scroll.

Once you witness it, it will haunt you, as it has me. This realization struck in the Atlanta airport where I had too much time to kill. That’s were my first flight had left me well after my connecting flight had taken off. No one’s fault. Just weather.
 
If you’ve been to the Delta lounge in Atlanta’s terminal B, you know that it’s comfortable, well-stocked food & beverage wise and generally a pleasant place to kill time (as long as cellphone talkers play nice and go to their designated area). Having missed my connection, I’d been booked onto the next flight out, which was leaving at 9:00 pm. Hours away. So, off to the lounge I went. 
 
I’d assumed that my biggest challenge for the rest of the trip would be avoiding the hooch. I’m laying off adult beverages for a while, and here I was with free-ish Delta lounge booze and a great reason to drink it. But I held strong. Water and wasabi peas. 
 
Then it was time to head to my flight. At the gate, we were informed we’d be delayed an hour. Shit. Back to the lounge? No. I can spend an hour in the un-rarified air of gen-pop. I’d power down and read on my phone. I’m early into a crime novel, which for me is like word-sorbet between heavier historical fiction reads.
 
Here, on the bench seating is where the horror began. I looked up from my screen to assess those around me. No surprise, most were staring at their own devices. I like to know what people are reading, and I’m nosy, so I glanced at my neighbor’s phone. Not reading, scrolling. I wondered, what would come up in their feed? Are they being served the same videos I am? Skiing, kittens, beekeeping, new inventions in Sweden, octopi? Again, I’m nosy.
 
Nope. Not the same. Between my neighbor’s kitten videos were riots, protests, fires, politicians accusing who-knew-who about who-knew-what. Beyond my neighbor was her partner. His feed was similar to hers. Propaganda cushioned by the intermittent cute feline or person being hit in the head or crotch. Hoping I’d accidentally sat next to the most troubled couple in the airport I broadened my curiosity circle.
 
A scan of the boarding area revealed that the majority of people on their phones where being hypnotized by inflammatory messaging laced with cute fur babies for Pablum. It was like a scene from “1984” or the movie “A Clock Work Orange.” (If you haven’t seen this dystopian 1971 Kubrick film, I have a hard time recommending you watch it. It’s violent and disturbing. But maybe that’s your thing. No judgment.)
 
But fear not. You don’t need to watch a dystopian films to be disturbed by this behavior. It’s happening all around us. I’d just never seen it on mass like this. And these aren’t people strapped in a chair with their eyes forced open. (You had to see the movie.) These people believe themselves to be will participants to the consuming of someone else’s messages. The formula is: nightmare, nightmare, kitten, nightmare, nightmare, nightmare, kitten, kitten, nightmare. 
 
“Screen time, especially from activities like video games and social media, can release dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward. This can create a feedback loop where the brain craves the stimulation and positive feelings associated with screen use, leading to increased time spent on screens.”(This from Ai, so it has to be true.)
 
Am I being alarmist when I say that it seemed we’d all handed over the key to our souls? Maybe, but looking out over the banquet table of propaganda ingestion, I had such a heavy feeling in my gut (or maybe it was my throat, because I wanted to throw up). It was like, the future we’d been warned about was here. I wanted to know if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. No? Now I felt like the person at the end of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” or the “Stepford Wives” who’s hiding in plain sight by pretending they were are as hypnotized as all the rest. 
 
But I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to yell out. Or at least slap one or two of them. But there are laws against such behavior. 
 
We are either being mass pacified or mass enraged. Is there such a thing as passive rage?
 
On the plane, the hypnosis continued. My neighbor was being lulled by pro-administration propaganda that made it seem like he should be stockpiling weapons against the pacifists. I waited for the flight attendant to bring him a bib for the drool.
 
What to do? In the short term, my plan was to keep my head down (Not really. I binged “The Gilded Age” – Not a recommendation.) and get through the flight without a cocktail. In the long-term, my plan was to tell you fine folks what I saw and perhaps encourage you to take a walk, go for a ride, laugh with a friend, drink a cocktail (for me) and discuss your thoughts. Your very own thoughts from your very own brain. 
 
Note, I’m writing this the day after the president’s parade and the “No Kings” marches across the country. Do with that what you will. Again, work with thoughts from thoughts from your very own brain.
 
If you’ve gotten this far (thank you) and are thinking, Hey, I read this blog for satire and this is feeling rather not-satire-y, sorry, not sorry. I’m sorry that I felt compelled to write it and I’m not sorry for calling out what I witnessed. (And I’m sorry for saying, sorry, not sorry. I hate that phrase.)
 
I’ll finish this with a quote from my father, Jer. A wise man with many witticisms. (89 years in, and we’re still getting fresh material.) Jer tells us all, “Don’t let them shit on your head. Open your mouth.”

Cheers and scroll careful-ishly,
Honey