Ella Donahue
Satire. All storylines have been created by the author.
The Yondr pouch saved my life. Before the magnetic miracle descended upon me, my existence was dark. Sure, I had the backlight of my iPhone 13 to guide me, but I had no form of human interaction — even with my friends and family. The hypnotizing scroll through TikTok was my only source of joy.
In those foggy years before the birth of Yondr pouches, I was sent to the main office daily. Whether it was for snorting ten pounds of Fun Dip or flushing dead raccoons down the toilet, the details didn’t matter: I had a serious social media addiction. I saw delinquency like this on social media all the time,
so I thought my actions were justified. Ever since Yondr magnetically guided me off my path of destruction, my purpose has changed. I’m now down to only five pounds per day and the occasional mouse flush.
The first step of Yondrification is to admit to your sins. Looking at my pre-enlightenment actions, I know I had many. Largest of all, I used to be a cyberbully. Behind the protection of my phone, I thought nothing of commenting things like “Go drown in a lake of root beer, you neutered jack*ss” or “your face makes blind kids cry” on peers’ posts. Now, with Yondr, I’ve learned that I cannot hide behind the anonymity of social media. I’ve grown from my mistakes, and I now make such comments face to face.
Since my pouch rebirth, I have also begun talking to my family. To my surprise, they speak back! But hold on for the biggest shock: Who knew I had a sister? Not me!
Not only did Yondr save my mind, it also saved my body. My doctor told me that my 25 hours of daily screen time was turning me into a permanent hunchback. Thank goodness I converted to Yondrism before it was too late.
It might sound like I am exaggerating as a newly-rehabilitated Yondrling, but everything in my life has changed for the better. Yesterday, on my walk home from school, I actually stopped to smell the flowers. It was kind of like the pictures I’d seen on Instagram, but a little weird because my eyes can see so much more. I’m now seeing the world with fresh eyes. The sky is bluer, the grass is greener and the birds chirp daintily as they fly by. Blinded by the beauty of the natural world, I didn’t even care when a bee flew up my nose and never came out. I even tried to swim for the first time! I found the nearest lake I could and cannonballed in.
I woke up in the emergency room hours later, soaking wet. I had almost drowned. But who had saved me? An Amish family of seven not distracted by their phones. In my delirium, I asked them to send me the video of my rehabilitation. They simply bowed their heads and wrapped me in a blanket.
This experience brought me to write a poem about my love for Yondr:
Oh Yondr, oh Yondr
Where have you been?
Oh Yondr, oh Yondr
I won’t throw you in the bin.
Yondr, you let me enjoy my life
Before you, it was full of strife.
The adults were right, I was addicted to my phone.
Twenty-five hours a day and all alone.
Now free, I can sing my song:
Yondr, you were the cure I was waiting for all along.
I have now left my juvenile delinquency behind and turned the page. Every day I proudly walk through the doors of Grant High School, put my phone in my Yondr pouch and securely lock it. My new favorite pastime is catching my peers who aren’t locking their phones. I tap my fellow students on the shoulder and offer them a disappointed, knowing look that says, “I know you didn’t pouch. I used to be like you. But look at me now, in all of my glory. Resist the urge and let Yondr guide you.”
I am now in charge of the school’s north entrance on Mondays and Tuesdays. If any students try to sneak in, I have a walkie talkie that immediately alerts the office. Not to brag, but I now speak to all the vice principals on a first-name basis. My final message goes out to every student at Grant: Lock your Yondr pouch and never open it again. You’ll thank me.