The Internet has changed everything. We expect to know everything

Host: The neon glow of the city bled through the glass of the 24-hour diner. Rain streaked the windows, painting long, liquid veins of light from the passing cars. Inside, the air hummed with the low buzz of an old refrigerator, the faint click of a jukebox idling, and the scent of burnt coffee lingering in the corners. Jack sat in the booth, phone in hand, the blue screenlight washing over his face like a cold ghost. Jeeny sat across from him, her laptop open, her eyes reflecting lines of code and newsfeeds.

Host: The world outside was drenched in motion, yet in here — time felt paused. Like two souls caught in the stillness between connection and disconnection.

Jeeny: “Bob Parsons once said, ‘The Internet has changed everything. We expect to know everything instantly. If you don’t understand digital communication, you’re at a disadvantage.’” Her voice was calm, almost meditative. “He’s right. The Internet has made us faster, sharper, and more connected than ever before. It’s not just a tool anymore — it’s part of who we are.”

Jack: (without looking up) “Part of who we pretend to be, maybe. The Internet hasn’t connected us — it’s hollowed us out. We know everything, Jeeny, but we understand nothing.”

Host: Jack locked his phone, setting it down like a man putting away a weapon. The blue light faded from his eyes, replaced by the gray weight of fatigue.

Jeeny: “You sound like a man afraid of change.”

Jack: “No. Just a man who’s seen what change does when it comes too fast. Instant knowledge is an illusion — like drinking water from a firehose. It looks powerful until you realize you’re drowning.”

Host: A bus rumbled past outside, the sound vibrating through the floor. Jeeny closed her laptop, leaning forward, her hands folded, eyes steady.

Jeeny: “So you’d rather we stayed in the dark ages? You think ignorance is noble now?”

Jack: “Ignorance isn’t the opposite of wisdom — confusion is. We have endless information but no clarity. People quote statistics, repost opinions, argue about everything — but nobody thinks. Parsons is right about the disadvantage, but not in the way he meant. If you don’t speak the Internet’s language, you’re lost; if you do, you lose your voice.”

Jeeny: “That’s poetic, but unfair. Look around — revolutions have started online. Voices that used to be silenced are being heard. Movements like #MeToo, Arab Spring, Black Lives Matter — all born from digital connection. You call it hollow, but it’s filled with the cries of millions who were never heard before.”

Host: Her eyes burned — small, dark stars beneath the diner’s tired light. Jack shifted, the leather seat creaking under his weight.

Jack: “Yes, and for every real cry, there are a thousand echoes — mindless outrage, noise, performative empathy. People click ‘like’ on a tragedy and feel they’ve changed the world. Digital compassion is cheap. It costs nothing, so it means nothing.”

Jeeny: “And yet, it’s something. Maybe imperfect, but a start. You can’t dismiss the bridge because it’s built of glass.”

Jack: “Glass breaks easily.”

Jeeny: “So does silence.”

Host: The rain outside intensified, drumming softly like a thousand restless fingers. Jack’s gaze softened; for a moment, he looked older — not by age, but by the weight of years carried inside.

Jack: “You know what this world feels like now? Like we’re all in the same room, shouting over each other, while the floor collapses beneath us. Everyone wants to be seen, but no one wants to look.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because we’ve been invisible for too long. The Internet gave us mirrors, Jack. Some people just don’t like what they see.”

Jack: “Or they can’t stop staring at it. We used to look at the sky for meaning; now we look at screens. Do you know what happens when you stare too long into light? You go blind.”

Jeeny: “And when you stay in the dark too long? You forget what light even is.”

Host: A moment of silence. The waitress passed by, refilling their cups. The steam curled upward, dancing in the air between them — the only movement in the still tension.

Jeeny: “You think understanding digital communication is a curse. But look at you — you live by it. You trade, you write, you network. The same Internet you condemn feeds you.”

Jack: “That’s what makes it worse. It’s like breathing polluted air — you need it to live, but it’s slowly killing you.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s not the Internet, Jack. Maybe it’s us. Technology doesn’t corrupt; it reflects. The Internet is just a mirror held up to human nature.”

Jack: “If that’s true, then it’s the cruelest mirror ever made. Because when you strip away the filters and algorithms, what’s left? Fear. Anger. Loneliness.”

Jeeny: “And love. And art. And knowledge. People have found purpose there — friendships, creativity, identity. You talk about it like it’s a virus, but it’s also a heartbeat.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like smoke — fragile, luminous, fading slowly. Jack looked down at his hands, calloused from years of work, yet now trembling slightly, as if unsure what to hold onto.

Jack: “A heartbeat made of code. That’s not life, Jeeny — it’s simulation. We’ve replaced the pulse with the ping.”

Jeeny: “But maybe the ping is the pulse now. The world evolves. Every generation fears its own invention. Remember how people said the printing press would destroy truth? That television would rot the mind? And yet, each time, humanity adapted. We’re doing it again — only faster.”

Jack: “Faster is the problem. You can’t evolve at the speed of light.”

Jeeny: “But we must. Because the world is light now — data, signals, connections. The question isn’t whether we keep up; it’s whether we can stay human while we do.”

Host: The lights flickered briefly — the storm outside tightening its grip. The diner’s hum deepened. For a heartbeat, both their screens went dark. They looked up — really looked — into each other’s faces, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights beyond the window.

Jack: “Maybe that’s it. Maybe the real disadvantage isn’t not knowing digital communication. Maybe it’s forgetting how to communicate without it.”

Jeeny: “That’s the balance we have to find. We can’t turn back, Jack. But we can remember how to look up from the screen.”

Host: Outside, a flash of lightning cut across the sky, sharp and pure. The rain began to ease, leaving the world glistening, washed clean.

Jack: “So we learn both languages — the digital and the human.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The code and the soul.”

Host: The storm passed. Silence settled again, soft as a breath. The neon lights dimmed, leaving only the sound of distant engines and the quiet clink of cups. Jack reached for his phone, hesitated — then put it down. Jeeny smiled — a small, knowing smile, like a signal between two frequencies finding harmony.

Host: Outside, the city shimmered — every light, every signal, every raindrop connected in invisible threads of data and dream. The world had changed — and so had they.