The Biggest Screens Disappeared First

The biggest screens disappeared first.

The Sphere in Vegas? Poof.

Jumbotrons in stadiums? Bye.

Every IMAX? Gone overnight without a trace.

Their owners were distraught: “Our IMAX had the highest margin in this entire theater! It wasn’t even close! What the hell?”

Other than a few mentions in major media outlets (“MISSING MEGASCREENS PUZZLE THEATER CONGLOMERATES, TEAM OWNERS”), uproar over the suddenly disappeared large screens eventually died down:

“Wasn’t there an IMAX here before?”

“What’s an IMAX?”

“Never mind.”

**

Next, it was every movie screen. Everywhere. Gone.

As before, there was an initial outcry followed by confused murmurs.

AMC, Cinemark, and other theater chains ceased to exist. In some cases, the buildings disappeared as well. In others, they morphed into different things.

People missed going to the movies.

…but not that much.

“Wait, wasn’t that a theater? We saw that one movie about the white guy and the space rock there last year.”

“No, I don’t think so. That’s always been an Urban Air. I’m pretty sure we saw the space rock on Prime.”

“Oh, right. Huh.”

**

Then, the largest flat screens—anything over 75 inches—went away.

This time, people were PISSED. Police were called all over the country on the same morning.

Everyone was sure it was an elaborate coordinated robbery of some sort. Political leaders on both sides were blamed. Everyone promised answers.

There were no answers.

Airports suspended operations for 48 hours after nearly every Arrival and Departure screen evaporated. It was a huge mess.

“I blame Anonymous.”

“Anonymous?”

“You know. The hackers.”

“How could hackers make big TVs disappear out of people’s houses? It was aliens.”

“Aliens? No way.”

“Trust me.”

“Whatever.”

**

Most owners of large screen TVs and display monitors bought smaller versions and get on with it, but the lingering fact remained: there were no large screens to be had. Anywhere. Every time a factory tried to restart production, each completed product disappeared.

No one could explain it. Everyone settled for smaller screens. The 65-inch market exploded.

Airports reopened. Life went on.

Soon after, however, each screen larger than 24 inches blinked out and was gone.

Now, the missing screens were all anyone could talk about. Workplaces ground to a halt.

Social media had one topic and one topic only: “WHO TOOK OUR TVS? WHEN ARE THEY COMING BACK?”

Netflix stock plunged. Financial institutions went into lock-down.

“For sure it’s aliens.”

“No, it was probably private equity.”

“Private what?”

“Nope. Definitely AI.”

“Wha—?”

“Well, I can’t go to work.”

“Lucky.”

This time, it took quite a while for everyone to adjust. But eventually, everyone did. Companies purchased new smaller monitors and laptops. Social media went back to normal as people once again posted about things other than the odd tech disappearances.

The stock market stabilized; political leaders formed committees. A wide assortment of “experts” testified before Congress and found creative new ways to say, “I dunno, Ma’am.”

Everyone watched shows and movies on their phones, which wasn’t that bad.

Sports bars installed small screens by every table and in grids. It was strange, but humans, as they say, were resilient:

“Yeah, I really only wanted to look at my phone anyway. Trying to agree on what to watch with my family was annoying.”

“Totally.”

**

Next, every computer monitor, small television, laptop screen and iPad went away.

This time, everyone truly lost their shit.

Tweens and gamers were particularly apoplectic.

Hospitals were hard hit as no one could access EHRs. Schools devolved into pandemonium. Millions of people were laid off. Some died. It was sad.

Companies with previously huge market caps collapsed…again. Everyone was glued to their phones, trying to figure out what to do. Cars still worked, but the screens in cars were gone.

Overall, it was a scary time.

“This is preposterous!” yelled the pundits. “We didn’t choose this! We didn’t vote for this. Who’s in charge here? I call upon our leaders to TAKE ACTION!”

But no one knew what action to take.

Least of all the leaders.

**

The only way to get news and communicate with one another was via the smallest screens.

Everyone held onto their phones with desperation, sure that if they clutched onto the devices vigorously enough with no breaks, not even to sleep…surely these wouldn’t be taken away, too?

People tried to make it work. They really did.

Everyone who could do their job on their phone did do their job on their phone.

They emailed.

They texted.

They traded.

They ordered.

Those who went to stores in person couldn’t use the self-checkout any more, so they waited in line.

A few smart people—those who saw the rather obvious writing on the wall—jotted down, on paper, the addresses and phone numbers of all the people in the world whom they loved. They wrote down their bank account numbers and other important items. They renewed their library cards and bought extra essentials at the store.

They wondered what would come next.

A few taught their children how to use maps. How to make change. How to use a phonebook.

Radio broadcasters, if we’re being honest, felt pretty smug. As did older newspaper folks who knew how to layout a morning edition using pasteboard.

We didn’t choose this, they thought. All these screens disappearing. But we didn’t really choose the screens’ arrival in our lives, either. So.

**

Some people continued to cling to their phones, but others went outside. They did the best, mentally, when the inevitable occurred only a few short years later.

Every phone disappeared.

Correction. Every phone with a screen disappeared. Yes, even the littlest ones.

The old rotaries worked just fine.

After a prolonged and committed gnashing of teeth, people rediscovered the joy of shoulder-cradling a giant black phone—and of slamming it down on one’s desk after hearing something dumb.

Musicians no longer had to look cute. No one really knew what they looked like. Or cared. Authors no longer had to “grow their platform” online. They wept with joy.

A few things that no longer existed, once every screen disappeared: Social media. Streaming. Hollywood in general, as an industry. Online shopping. Prediction markets. Rideshare apps. Digital boarding passes. Data centers. Swiping. Email.

Eventually, everyone adapted. Settled down. Even the individuals who had complained the loudest.

Those who clung to the past tried—for years—to make new screens, doing everything they could think of to bring society back to where it had been.

They said the word “frictionless” a lot and were largely ignored.

Because nothing worked. No screen could be made without immediately disappearing.

Since it was difficult to communicate with loved ones and business associates far away, letter writing became popular again. Typewriter collectors did very well. Trains came back en vogue.

Doctors went back to writing prescriptions on pads of paper. Comedians went back to asking what the deal was with their illegible scribbles.

Teachers wrote on whiteboards with markers.

Students wrote in notebooks with pens.

**

Everyone was a little bored.

And no one knew what their high school classmates were up to, or if that one girl they’d met at that wedding that one time was still in real estate.

Instructions for card games were printed in local newspapers and neighborhood newsletters.

People dusted off record players.

Old YouTubers join community theater productions. It was all they could do.

People took dance classes. They bickered with their family members instead of watching TikTok. They reminisced about TikTok and made it sound better than it was.

Then, they forgot about it.

In the end, life wasn’t better or worse. It moved forward. As it always...eventually...does.

“When I was your age, there were all these things everywhere. Screens. We all had our own. It was strange but pretty great. We watched shows on them.”

“Shows? Like plays?”

“Yes, kind of like plays but more complicated. Also, you didn’t have to go to the store if you wanted to buy something. You could just order it on a screen and it would be delivered. We had so much information.”

“Okay, Mom. Sounds boring.”

“Don’t say, ‘Okay, Mom,’ like I’m crazy. Aren’t you learning about any of this in school? Silicon Valley? Apple?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, I give up. Never mind.”

She sighed and opened the fridge. They were out of milk again.