Android People

Reflections on my house divided

I’ve always been a dog person. I grew up with dogs, I was taught that cats are evil, and that was that. But last year my friend, in full awareness of my pet preferences, adopted two cats without first seeking my permission. She filled her house with empty Amazon boxes, tiny plush cabins, and slapdash high rises of carpeted platforms. Every piece of furniture was quickly cornered in plastic, and every plant placed under strict surveillance. 

Despite this breach of trust, I decided to continue hanging out with her, at least while the cats were still hiding under her bed 24/7. I even crawled onto the ground from time to time to greet the cats from afar, in an attempt to look like a magnanimous person. And whenever I did so, I thought to myself, They don’t look entirely evil. Actually, they’re sort of cute. 

A few months later, when I solemnly took up the mantle of the cat sitter, I learned that felines are more potty-trained than my dog, easier to lift, and significantly more independent. They don’t require walks or obedience training. They can even be left alone for days at a time with an automatic feeder!

My husband Cory is also a dog person. When I shared these realizations with him, he was underwhelmed.

In addition to our shared preference for dogs, another thing Cory and I have had in common from the git-go is our hatred of iPhones. This likely stemmed from our time spent wasting away in the Gates building at Carnegie Mellon University, where we studied computer science. Any self-respecting computer science major at CMU graduated with three things: a six-figure salary, a head full of mental health problems, and an undying devotion to open source software. Open source software is software powered by non-proprietary code, which can be downloaded for free from the internet and tweaked by anyone with both a laptop and no dating prospects. 

iPhones do not use open source software.  So, after we got married and started our tech jobs in Silicon Valley, Cory got a Samsung Galaxy and I got a Google Pixel, both of which used an open-source operating system called Android. Though most of the friends we met after college had iPhones, Cory and I stood together, and we stood firm. We were taught that iPhones are evil, so we would never be iPhone people. That was that.

But after getting migraines, leaving my tech job, and abandoning my expensive degree, I began to use my phone a lot more often. Not for social media or games or videos, but for texting. During my long migraine attacks, texting is the only way to stay connected to people living out in the real world full of aggravating lights, sounds, and smells.  I believe just as much as the next guy that phones are bad and addicting, but when you're stuck in your house for days on end, concessions must be made. (Everyone has had a taste of this from the COVID-19 pandemic...just imagine that isolation continuing for years and years, or a lifetime. That's chronic illness.)

So, I began to  question my allegiances. If I wasn't writing software anymore, what did I have to prove by using an Android phone? I had never downloaded the source code for my phone on a weekend, or even wanted to. Besides, I'd heard that iPhones are more user-friendly, a software engineering term that roughly translates to better in every way. 

I used to feel superior for knowing how to operate a less intuitive phone, but ever since getting sick, my energy economy has fallen on hard times. Whenever our cabinets become empty, echoing caverns, I resort to dried blueberries and popcorn instead of going to the store. When our hampers vomit dirty laundry all over the rug, I think it's about time to order some new clothes. So it should come as no surprise that, as I emailed something to myself for the thousandth time just so I could save it to my phone, I began to wonder…is this really worth it?

That is how I, at thirty-one years old, switched from a pocket-sized screen with a “G” on the back to a pocket-sized screen with a used fruit on the back. 

Though it took a while for me to learn how to use my iPhone, my social life got a more immediate facelift. This was due mostly to what I call text message racism. You see, when an iPhone texts a non-iPhone, the messages are an arresting shade of bright green, like the color of the laser beams that come shooting out of invading alien ships in sci-fi movies. But between iPhones, the messages are a pleasant, calming shade of ocean blue. (The difference is intentional, and is widely blamed for ruining relationships.) 

In the weeks following my conversion, I received messages saying things like, Congratulations on turning blue, the color of good people, or, I'm loving the blue serenity in texting you now! And, though I can't prove this scientifically, it certainly feels like friends with iPhones text me more often, and have longer conversations with me over text than they used to. 

There’s only one problem with the new smart phone: my husband.

Cory and I are in some group texts with our neighbors and friends. Because of him, these conversations are covered in green slime, and I can't label the threads with fun names or emojis. And for our private chats, Cory wants me to keep using DIFFERENT apps to message him at different times of day: Slack during his work hours (which notifies him maybe half the time), WhatsApp if he's in the car, and Facebook Messenger for all other situations. (“This wouldn’t change if I got an iPhone,” he said in his ignorance while proofreading this.) And no, calling doesn't work either, because his phone has this nasty habit of being in silent mode at all times, except when it’s the middle of the night and I haven’t slept for days. At this point, I might as well send smoke signals.

Then there is, of course, the sharing issue. My friend Caroline, who has an iPhone, went to the store the other day and asked if we needed anything. If it were just me, I’d scribble down a list in Notes and share it with the touch of a button. But, oh shoot, Cory mentioned needing something from the store. What was it? Android phones can’t use Notes, so let me open up the Google Keep app and find our shopping list. Argh, where is the list?? Sometimes lists just DISAPPEAR in this app, so let me try restarting it. Ok, here it is, at the very bottom, next to a list of restaurants in Half Moon Bay that I created six years ago. But I don’t see anything from Cory on here…maybe the list didn’t save, because it doesn’t always, or maybe he forgot to update it in the first place. Should I message him on Slack or Messenger? Maybe both, just to be sure he gets it. I’ll double-check what he wants, add these things onto the shopping list in Google Keep, then manually type each of the things on the shopping list into a new note to share with Caroline. Gosh, I hope she hasn’t finished shopping already.

But the communication hassles are just that: hassles, minor annoyances. What’s more concerning, even alarming, is how Cory persistently and blatantly disregards my physical safety through his smartphone choices.

"If you get an iPhone," I often tell him, "we can location share with each other."

"Why would we want to do that?" he always replies.

"In case I get hit by a bus, you'll know where I am! We live in a busy city, you know."

"If you get hit by a bus, can't you just message me?"

Needless to say, I’ve resorted to location sharing with the cat friend.

Cory and I still love each other, but if we’re going to make this marriage work, I really need an easier way to bombard him with videos of Donut snoring on the couch. So please pray for my spouse, that he will see the light before he's too old to learn how to operate an iPhone. His hair is already gray, so the window of opportunity is closing faster than you may think.

Please also let me know of any cats up for adoption. They’re a lot more user-friendly than dogs.

Read Part 2…