A 76-year-old woman walked
down the hallway of Clearview Addictions
Clinic, searching for the
right department. She passed the
“Heroin Addiction Department
(HAD),” the “Smoking Addiction
Department (SAD)” and the “Bingo
Addiction Department (BAD).” Then
she spotted it: “Facebook Addiction
Department (FAD).”
It was the busiest department in
the clinic, with people filling the waiting room, most
staring blankly into their iPhones. A middle-aged man
with unkempt hair was pacing, muttering “I need to
milk my cows. I need to milk my cows.”
A twenty-something man was prone on the floor,
his face in his hands, while a woman comforted him.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
“I don’t understand it. None of my friends even
clicked the ‘like’ button.”
“How long has it been?”
“Almost five minutes. That’s like five months in the
real world.”
The 76-year-old woman waited until her name was
called, then followed the receptionist into the office of
Alfred Zulu, Facebook Addiction Counselor.
“Please have a seat, Edna,” he said with a warm
smile. “Tell me how it all started.”
“Well, it’s my grandson’s fault. He sent me an invitation
to join Facebook. I hadn’t heard of Facebook, but
I thought it was something for me, because I usually
have my face in a book.”
“How soon were you hooked?”
“Faster than you can say ‘create a profile.’ I found
myself on Facebook at least eight times a day. Sometimes
I’d wake up in the middle of the night to check it,
just in case there was an update from one of my new
friends in India. My husband didn’t like that. He said
that friendship is a precious thing and should never be
outsourced.”
“What do you like most about Facebook?”
“It makes me feel like I have a life. In the real world,
I have only five or six friends, but on
Facebook, I have 674. I’m even friends
with Juan Carlos Montoya.”
“Who’s he?”
“I don’t know, but he’s got 4,000
friends, so he must be famous.”
“Facebook has helped you make
connections, I see.”
“Oh yes. I’ve connected with
some of the gals from high school.
I hadn’t heard from some of them
in ages, so it was exciting to look at
their profiles and figure out who’s retired,
who’s still working, and who’s
had some work done. I love browsing
their photos and reading their updates.
I know where they’ve been on
vacation, which movies they’ve watched, and whether
they hang their toilet paper over or under. I’ve also been
playing a game with some of them.”
“Let me guess. Farmville?”
“No, Mafia Wars. I’m a Hitman. No one messes with
Edna.”
“Wouldn’t you rather meet your friends in person?”
“No, not really. It’s so much easier on Facebook. We
don’t need to gussy ourselves up. We don’t need baths
or perfume or mouthwash. That’s the best thing about
Facebook—you can’t smell anyone. Everyone is attractive,
because everyone has a good profile pic. One of the
gals is using a profile pic that was taken, I’m pretty certain,
during the Eisenhower Administration.”
“What pic are you using?”
“Well, I spent five hours searching, but couldn’t find
one I really liked. So I decided to visit the beauty salon.”
“To make yourself look prettier?”
“No, to take a pic of one of the young ladies. That’s
what I’m using.”
“Didn’t your friends notice that you look different?”
“Some did, but I told them I’ve been doing lots of
yoga.”
“When did you realize that your Facebooking might
be a problem?”
“I realized it last Sunday night, when I was on Facebook
and saw a message there from my husband: ‘I
moved out of the house five days ago. Just thought you
should know.’”
“What did you do?”
“What else? I unfriended him, of course!”
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