Good Service Is Bad Reception

There was a time when “good service” meant a smile at the diner, a handshake at the dock, or the guy at the bait shop remembering your name. Now it’s five bars on a cell tower and a phone that never stops buzzing.

We’ve gotten so used to being connected that we’ve forgotten how good it feels not to be. That’s why, for some of us, the best kind of self-care isn’t a spa weekend — it’s a weekend with no bars. The kind where you drive until your playlist cuts out and your phone quietly gives up trying.

Because out there — knee-deep in a quiet river or sitting on a tailgate with the sun slipping behind the trees — you start to remember how peaceful silence really is. You start to notice the world again. The sound of the wind. The rhythm of your cast. The way time stretches when you’re not checking it every two minutes.

“Good service” used to mean being taken care of. Maybe it still does — it just looks a little different now. Maybe taking care of yourself means finding a place where the only notifications come from nature.

So yeah, give us the bad reception.
The dropped calls, the dead zones, the blissful quiet.

Because if we’re honest, the best connections we make don’t come with Wi-Fi.