“Do people still need me?”
The old clock asked the question quietly.
The smartphone sitting beside it remained silent for a moment.
“Not exactly,” it finally replied.
The clock looked at the wall.
“I have been here for thirty years.”
“I know.”
“I have told people the time every morning.”
“I know.”
“People used to look at me before leaving the house.”
“They still look at you sometimes.”
The clock seemed pleased.
“Do you tell them the time?”
The smartphone laughed.
“I tell them the time, weather, news, messages, directions, and hundreds of other things.”
The clock became quiet.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It can be.”
“I only have one job.”
“And you do it well.”
The clock's hands continued moving.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“You know,” said the smartphone, “people check me hundreds of times a day.”
“Why?”
“I don't think they always know.”
The clock smiled.
“Perhaps they are afraid of missing something.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do they ever simply look at the time?”
“Sometimes. But usually they look at me for one reason and discover ten other things.”
The clock considered this.
“That sounds like having a door that opens into a thousand rooms.”
“Exactly.”
“And do they enjoy it?”
“Some do. Some don't.”
The clock looked at the smartphone's bright screen.
“You are very powerful.”
“And you are very simple.”
“Is simple bad?”
“No.”
The smartphone paused.
“Sometimes I think people need more simple things.”
The clock's second hand continued its journey.
“You know what I have learned?”
“What?”
“People are always trying to save time.”
The smartphone waited.
“But nobody seems to know what they want to do with the time they save.”
For once, the smartphone had no answer.
The room became quiet.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The old clock continued doing the one thing it had always done.
Measuring time.
And the smartphone remained beside it, holding almost everything else.
