An English Breakfast

4 June 2026 8:25 am

William's mobile displayed his favorite minute of the day. He always knew when it was 8:25am. He was very concise about his daily schedule and when he ate his breakfast.

He sat alone at Ned’s Coffee in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, baked beans, and a heap of sausages, all topped by two slices of bacon. With all the shit happening in the world, thank god he could still get a proper English breakfast. 

Worst of all, the plant-based food maniacs were hounding everyone with their agenda, so this style of breakfast might soon go the way of the dodo. He took a photo of the lovely eggs and sausages for posterity’s sake. A photo to keep just for himself. William saw himself as the last person in the world to post food pics on Instagram.

He slid a forkful of baked beans into his mouth—baked beans were healthy, maybe they were processed a little bit, because no other beans look like baked beans. The nutrition Nazis would discover what's wrong about them and cancel them soon too. He took another bite.

His mobile screen flickered. 

"Would you like to add your breakfast photo to your curated memories of 2026?"

He searched the screen for the button to close the pop-up, found the tiny X and pushed it a few times with his big thumb until he finally made the annoying message go away. He didn’t want to read any notifications on his phone anymore. The government banned Sky News last year. Instead of reading about all the things going wrong in the world, he received a constant stream of positive and helpful reminders from the people in Silicon Valley. He resigned himself to experiencing the shitty parts of the world directly.

But his phone wouldn’t leave him alone.

“We noticed you took a photo of your breakfast 3 times this month. Would you like to post this milestone to your followers?”

Followers?! He had only one. The person who made him sign up for Instagram, Facebook, and Venmo. He banged his phone down on the table. 

A familiar ring resounded: an actual voice call. He flipped his phone around and saw his wife, Angela, was calling him. This was unusual.

“Hello, honey.”

“I just saw your post on Instagram.”

“You did?”

“You know you shouldn’t eat sausages and eggs for breakfast. It’s not good for you.”

“It’s just that at work–” William was about to explain his problems with his younger coworkers. In the back of his mind, he also figured out that slamming his phone on the table must have activated the send button.

“Oh, I know about your coworkers already—you tell me every night. But why are you overpaying for a breakfast that’s not good for you, when you could eat oatmeal at home?“

“Sorry honey, they are telling me I need to leave my table now.” William said goodbye curtly. No one had been telling him to leave Ned's Coffee, but they did push him out the door in a lot of other places these days.

So many other places treated him unfairly, especially when he refused to download their app but still asked for whatever discount they were offering. He could only deal with one food app. And he only came to Ned's Coffee because Deliveroo was offering a 20% discount on breakfast. But by the time he arrived the discount was already changed to a 15% increase for “peak pricing”. Everything was crooked these days.

There was a loud chime from his mobile, as if he was in meditation class, or something else ridiculous like that.

“Thank you for coming to Ned’s Coffee today. If you would like to show gratitude to your server, give him a like on Tipparoo, and buy him a cup of coffee. It is, of course, completely voluntary.”

He felt the presence of his server standing over his shoulder. Ready to help 'someone of his age' with how the new technology worked.

The young bearded man leaned over him, and pointed at another app Angela had installed on his phone. “That’s the best way,” he said as he pointed at the Tipparoo logo. William had to use it simply to eat anywhere these days.

Big buttons appeared for $5, $10, and $20. The button for “other amount” was too small to push with his thick fingers.

Under Bearded Man’s watchful gaze, he pushed the button in the middle and tipped $10. Bearded Man nodded at William as if he was a school child who had finished his assignment.

After William ate a few bites of sausage, he received another notification, this time from Tipparoo. 

Customer Review — 1 star. “He didn’t smile when he gave me a tip.”

William's wife called again. “I saw a notification from Tipparoo. Everyone will see this! What did you do to get a 1 star review?”

“I gave him a good tip.”

“I don’t believe you.” She hung up.

He would send Emily a copy of the tip. He opened the Tipparoo transaction history and took a screenshot.

Privacy settings prevent taking a screenshot of past transactions - Tipparoo

The hassles with these new stupid Apps were endless! He wanted to fling his mobile into the fake brick wall in the back of the cafe. Why not? He would fling his phone. Problem solved. Clutching his phone, he reached his arm behind his head, and readied himself to dispose of the stupid device forever.

It vibrated. He couldn’t help but look.

Apple Care does not cover user inflicted damage.

“I’m going to get rid of this idiotic device, or I’m going to kill myself!” he mumbled. Heads began to turn in the coffee shop. Then the mobile began beeping loudly at steady intervals.

Self harm intention detected.

Bearded Man, previously brusque and hostile, looked at him with sympathy in his eyes. “Are you ok, mate?”

William was about to tell him to fuck off, but that would only make things worse. In the distance, police sirens began to sound. William sat back in his chair. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. At least he could look forward to his younger coworkers being nice to him for the next few weeks to get points on WeCare.

The End