Screen Detox: Five Days Without a Phone Was Easy – Until Her Car Broke Down
I have been rescued by cowboys a few times in my life. Just enough times, in fact, to start a joke among my friend group that my guardian angel must really like Stetsons. It’s only right that while going on a smartscreen detox for a school project that I would stumble across a very helpful cowboy at a Sheetz who was more than willing to lasso me out of the situation I found myself in.
It started with a decision to write a paper about lowering my screen time. For a week, I would only use screens when absolutely necessary. That meant I wouldn’t miss any of my online classes, and I could answer phone calls from my boss. I printed out my assignments for the week so I would have the guidelines and due dates ready. Instead of completing them on an empty Google Doc, I had a notebook and pen at the ready. I deleted all apps off my phone except for the essentials. If there was a situation, I would still have a way to call my emergency contacts.
I was prepared to feel lost. For a large chunk of my life, I’ve had everything I needed at my fingertips at all times — a GPS, music, the internet, social media, my contacts. If I needed to know what my friends were doing, all I had to do was send a text.
Day One was full of that longing. I kept picking my phone up and groaning when I remembered I had no apps to use and no reason to use them. My 40-minute commute to work felt like three hours because I couldn’t listen to a podcast or put my playlist on. I felt like I was breaking up with part of my life.
My coworker, Dea, humbled me very quickly. “If you need your phone to be glued to your hip, then you aren’t really living,” she said. “One week without using it all the time isn’t going to kill you. If it’s so hard having it in your pocket but not being able to use it, then put it away.”
The day became easier when I heeded her advice. I kept my ringer all the way up in case my boss needed to call me, but the itch to hold it in my hands was slowly going away.
Day Two came and I reunited with my record collection, if you can even call it that with how few I have. Over this experiment, I got to know Larry Norman, Cece Winans, Demon Hunter, Becoming the Archetype, and DeGarmo and Key very well. I also went to Bible study this day. I realized how often we check our phones in silences. My friends often only checked their phones for a few seconds before re-engaging with the conversation. I found myself having a desire to break those silences but not having the right words to. I wondered how often I check my phone at functions, even if just to escape the awkwardness that comes with silence.
I was finally getting the hang of things by Day Three. I still logged on to my online classes, did my assignments on paper before typing them and submitting, and I listened to my records. It was a slow day. I spent the morning reading, took my dog for a walk, and went to work. At work, that same coworker who lovingly humbled me on Day One updated me on what people were finding in the Epstein Files. Most of her news came from Instagram Reels, so I had to trust that not only were her sources credible, but that she was relaying that information to me truthfully.
After realizing I needed to stay informed, I began The Great Quest for a Newspaper on Day Four. I had an open morning, so I took to the streets of Canonsburg. Two drug stores and three gas stations later, my hands were empty. At my final stop, Walgreens, I asked if they had any, thinking that maybe if I asked, they would magically pull one out from behind the counter. That was not the case.
“We have them,” the woman said. She had cherry red hair and a green shirt on. She looked at the magazine rack. I had to let her know that I wasn’t looking for magazines about celebrities. “Well, we usually have them. I don’t know why there aren’t any there. You know, you can always just look it up.”
For some reason, I was too embarrassed to tell her that I was going a week without my phone, so I nodded and bought a pack of gum instead. I sat in my car for ten minutes in silence. I think I went through every single stage of grief that a person can go through. From shock to denial, all the way to acceptance, I finally sighed and drove off in my music-less car.
Where do you turn when all hope is lost? Just like every main character from a Hallmark Christmas movie after an argument with their love interest, I turned to church. Luckily, the nonprofit I work for is attached to a Catholic church. A little hallway connects the two, and while taking some kids to the restroom, I spotted it. With an audible gasp that made my students question my sanity, I ran up to the newspaper and hugged it like I just reunited with my lost dog. There was still hope!
The paper was dated Feb. 6 and it was Feb. 11. It wasn’t as recent as I would have wished, but it was better than nothing — it was a drop of water in the desert I put myself in. And I was going to get the most out of that single drop. I promised myself that I would read it the next morning so I could fulfill my desire to feel like the dads in 90’s sitcoms that would glower at the kitchen table with big newspapers shielding their faces from their families. I knew the technology detox was getting to my head when I was excited to read a newspaper.
But I really had no clue what I was in for. The feeling of emptiness on Day One or the Great Quest on Day Four was nothing compared to what was going to happen on Day Five.
It started with me running late for school. In my rush, I had to forgo my desire to be Red Forman for the morning and shove the newspaper into my backpack. Ten minutes after leaving my house, my car, a glorious 2007 Honda CRV I lovingly named Betsy, decided that hills were no longer going to be included in her job description. With my dashboard giving me a sudden glow of imminent danger, I was breaking down. For the first time ever, the lurching, whirring, and knocking meant something bad. Usually, I could ignore it by turning my music up.
I was lucky to start breaking down right next to the housing plan on Greenwood Dr., and was able to turn out of traffic. I thought about how much money it was going to take to fix my car, how I was about to miss my class, and how I was going to have to hope my mechanic friend would answer when I called him. Then I realized, with genuine bewilderment that made my chest go cold, that I didn’t have my phone. It wasn’t in the cupholder. It wasn’t in my back pocket. It wasn’t in my backpack. It was at home, sitting on my bookshelf.
The tears that I had been fighting off finally made their appearance, and I sat in Betsy for longer than necessary to cry about my life. What was I supposed to do? The walk home would be long, and I didn’t want to leave my car in the middle of some housing plan I never even knew existed. I knew I was going to have to go to the Sheetz over the hill and pray someone would be kind enough to help.
I began my cold, lonely walk. I felt like every car that passed me was full of people judging me for walking on the side of the road. I could imagine them laughing at me trudging through the slush of snow. I was trying to be optimistic, but when I came upon the gas station and saw only a few cars in the lot, I was feeling hopeless.
Two guys were outside pumping gas, but I didn’t want to ask them for help. I was really hoping I would find another woman who would lend me her phone or maybe even a shoulder to cry on. I went inside, but the short woman at the counter looked like she would bite me if I asked for a hug. I made my way down the isles, anxiety gnawing at my stomach.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it: a white cowboy hat. A man, who would later introduce himself to me as Thomas, was sitting inside of the dining area drinking coffee. I let out a sigh of relief and knew that if there was anyone I could rely on, it was an out-of-place cowboy. I approached him and explained that I was having car trouble and didn’t have a phone on me.
When I said that, he asked if it was dead. I had to then tell him that, no, I forgot it at home.
“That’s surprising,” Thomas said. “I have two daughters. They never leave the house without it. Bet you you’ll never forget it again.”
I didn’t have my mechanic friend’s number memorized, but I did have my dad’s. I called him twice with no success. I assumed it was because I was calling from an unknown number and looked up the phone number to my other friend’s towing business. With one of his drivers on the way to Greenwood Dr., I thanked Thomas and told him to have a good day.
“I can drive you to your car,” he offered. “No reason you need to be out there in this weather.”
The stranger danger protocol I had been taught in elementary school flashed in my mind, but I thought, how bad could this be? His truck didn’t scream serial killer. There was black and white dog hair on the seats, bottles of Mountain Dew in the doors, and a Bible on the dash. I laughed to myself and thought that maybe he really was a guardian angel.
On the short drive to Betsy, Thomas told me about his daughters, Claire and Kinsley, who were also college students. He gave me some decent advice about not forgetting my phone at home or talking to strangers, and we parted ways. Capital G towing wouldn’t get to my car for about another hour, and I had nothing left to do but wait.
My eyes caught the off-white pages of the Park Newspaper that fell out of my backpack when I was looking for my phone. I didn’t live in South Park, but I read that paper as if I did. I settled in and started reading about how South Park Library’s Blind Date with a Book program was sold out, and I even considered going to the South Park Lions Bingo Match (scheduled for Mar. 14, 2026). It wasn’t a riveting paper by any means, but that drop of water gave me some entertainment for my hour of waiting.
I saw Capital G Towing pull up behind me and knew that even though I promised to stay away from screens for a full week, five days was enough. School and work convenience demands screentime, but I’ve learned that they don’t demand nearly as much as I once thought. And the enjoyment of life, I’d say, requires almost none. However, if you ever find yourself phone-less and broken down, try and find a friendly cowboy to lend you a hand.