What If You Had A Smartphone In Ancient Egypt.

[0:00]What if you had a smartphone in ancient Egypt? Day one, you wake up in the shadow of the great pyramid of Giza. It's 100 degrees. You're wearing a polyester T-shirt and you have no signal. You find a vendor selling roasted goose near the Nile. You hold up your iPhone and offer to trade. He stares at the black screen. He thinks it's a slab of cursed obsidian. He throws a rock at you. You skip lunch. Day two, the hunger is a physical weight. You find a group of fishermen hauling a net. You pull out the phone and open the camera. You pinch the screen to zoom in on a crocodile, lurking 200 yards upstream. You show the head fisherman. He sees a monster appearing out of thin air on a piece of glass. He screams Sebak and flees, leaving his catch behind. You eat a raw perch. It is the worst meal of your life. Day three, word of the man with the trapped star reaches the temple. A high priest finds you. He doesn't want to kill you. He wants to know if the stone speaks. You lead him into the darkest corridor of the temple and click the flashlight on. The limestone walls ignite. He drops to his knees. You tell him you're a messenger. But a messenger needs to eat. He brings you bread and beer. The bread is 20% sand. The beer is thick like porridge. You're still dreaming of a burger. They think it's the Duat, the land of the gods. The screen flickers, the brightness dims. Day seven, the battery hits zero. The god in your hand turns back into a heavy cold piece of glass. The pharaoh studies your face in the reflection of the dead screen. The sun has set in the stone, he says. He decides you've lost the favor of the gods. You're stripped of your linen and sent to the quarries to haul limestone. History remembers the pyramids. You remember the taste of the quail.