The core members of my friend group are turning 30 this summer. To celebrate, they wanted to do something big, loud, and expensive, which is fitting for their station in life—urbanite creative-industry types who are old enough to not be broke, but young enough to not yet have kids. So, after debating various bank-account-plundering European destinations, the Birthday Boys and Girls settled on a weeklong trip to Portugal to bless the end of their 20s. There are about a dozen people in the traveling party, which made the actual nuts-and-bolts planning of this getaway a daunting task. Naturally, not being stodgy, email-loving Gen Xers or boomers, we quickly fired up a fresh group text to hammer out all of the details and contingencies. Everyone was included on the chain, except for me.
Why was I rejected? Because I am a lifelong Android user, while everyone else in my orbit is a steadfast, uncompromising iPhone owner. Apparently, in a covert sidebar that I was not privy to, the rest of my vacationing crew concurred that due to the various asymmetries inherent to Apple-to-Samsung transmission—the ultragrainy videos, the needlessly wordy translations of emoji reactions, the inability to add a cute, punny title to the thread, and yes, the dreaded Green Bubble—I would be excised from the central scheduling committee, which effectively relegated me to the powerless status of, like, Montenegro at the United Nations.