Someone created a group text three years ago to coordinate one dinner. ONE DINNER.
That dinner happened. Everyone had a great time. Everyone went home.
The group text is still going. It will outlive us all.
The Usual Suspects
There’s always the person who sends “good morning” GIFs at 6:47am. Every. Single. Day.
The person who replies “lol” to messages from four days ago because they finally scrolled up.
The one guy who thinks the group text is his personal Twitter and live-tweets his grocery store trip.
And the person who keeps trying to plan another dinner that will never actually happen.
The Notification Nightmare
Your phone buzzes 47 times during a meeting. You check it hoping it’s something important.
It’s Kevin sending photos of his cat. Twelve photos. The cat is just sitting there. Same angle. Slightly different lighting.
Then five people respond with their own cat photos. You don’t even remember who half these people are anymore.
The Failed Escape
You mute it. It unmutes itself somehow. You leave the group.
Someone adds you back with “lol where’d you go??”
You explain you’re trying to reduce notifications. They respond “just mute it bro” and send seven laughing emojis.
The group text cannot be stopped. Only survived.
The Actual Emergency
The one time you actually need to reach someone quickly, the group text is silent. Dead air.
But the second you’re in a quiet place—a job interview, a funeral, a first date—that’s when it explodes with 83 unread messages about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
The Truth We All Know
Nobody wants to be the person who officially kills the group text. That’s cold. That’s mean.
So we all just live with it. Watching our phones light up with random memes, accidental voice notes, and someone asking “wait what restaurant was that again?” about a place you went to in 2019.
The group text is forever. Resistance is futile. Just accept your fate.