During the early 2000s, most of us knew the importance of safe driving. But with things like bulky console CD holders, piles of printed turn-by-turn directions from MapQuest, and that lovable, indestructible, clam-shell favorite, the Nokia cell phone, the road became tough to pay attention to. It was like explaining the art of the bunt to a T-ball team and little Billy yells, “Look! There’s a frog.” The cell phone became such a distraction to drivers by 2008, the bumper sticker “Hang up and drive” became a public safety grassroots campaign. Now, in 2026, as smartphones are killing the bar vibes, it’s time for a new public service slogan, “Hang up and drink.”
Before phone contacts, the bar scene encouraged eye contact. Before sending a text, we sent social signals. Before listening to AirPods, we actively listened to the person sitting next to us while we slightly leaned into the conversation. Before we pretended to be on our phones in order to discourage someone from approaching us, we played hard to get in order to encourage someone to hit on us.
The awkward yet charming attempts at flirting, the rush of pursuing the attractive person from across the room before someone else did, the spontaneous late-night plans that occasionally led to unforgettable connections gave us reasons to order “one more” before we went home.
Our liquid courage consumption helped spark up dialogue with people we wouldn’t have met otherwise. Cheesy pickup lines, quick comebacks, and mutual teasing have all been replaced by tilted heads, slumped shoulders, and eyes focused on reading other people’s thoughts. Strangers routinely persuaded other strangers to dance. Now when someone asks something, it’s usually for a cell phone charger.
Questions like, “What’s your sign?” “Do you come here often?” “What’s a nice woman like you doing in a place like this?” have all been superseded by questions like, “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” I’m not advocating for the resurgence of corny flirty tropes. But instead of a “ding” sound every 30 seconds, it would be nice to hear, “Where have you been all my life?”
Remember the clever and inventive reasons we thought of to invite someone over to sit at our table? We would spend hours laughing, exchanging stories, and embellishing facts that couldn’t be disproved by the computer in our pockets. We figured out ways to break the ice. We would size someone up. We wanted to get the lay of the land. Today, people aren’t interested in “What’s your story?” They only have eyes for your Snapchat story.
It’s not just connecting with the opposite sex that has taken a blow. In today’s saloon environment, groups of friends are commonly seen sitting at tables in silence with their necks bent, scrolling through their phones. Talk about shattering an ego. How boring must one’s conversation be to take a backseat to Zach King’s magic broomstick ride TikTok video?
One of my personal favorite pub pastimes is the prank call. Before the smartphone era, you could call a bar and ask if your friend was around. The bartender would ask you, “What’s your friend’s name,” and then yell that person’s name out loud. For example, if your friend was Steve Oates, the bartender yelled, “Steve Oates! Anyone here named Steve Oates?” But you could prompt giggles and laughter reminiscent of high school sophomore boys just by asking for old friends like Al Coholic, Seymour Butts, and Mike Hunt. I know it was childish and immature, but at least it was live interaction with an actual person.
We can no longer enjoy our food and drinks. Before we take a drink we have to take a selfie. Before we take a bite we have to take a picture. We have taken the soul out of bars. We have taken the fun out of social establishments. We have taken the life out of nightlife. We should have taken a ball peen-hammer to our iPhones. Here’s to the next time the bartender yells “last call”: it means last phone call. Raise your glass, hang up, and drink.
Buddy Jones is a longtime Memphis bartender and comedian who hosts a weekly comedy night at Peoples on Beale.
