My bratty smartphone demands

Bratty demand #1
Shoulder surfing is prevalent enough in my own boring life that the shady behavior warrants deliberate methods of data concealment. I have yet to find an automated solution for hiding data during the simple action of waking up a smartphone (various manual swipe methods exist to deal with closing apps and some settings will hide things like alerts coming in – this is not what I am looking for).

No matter what, on wake up, my smartphone picks up right where I left off by displaying whatever the last thing was that I was working on. This is so convenient. However, this is a feature I can do without in certain settings. I want an automated feature I can turn off/on that forces the home screen to appear on wake up regardless of what I was working on before sleep mode engaged.

Bratty demand #2
Have you ever given a phone to someone so they could look at a photo and then the person swipes through all photos on your phone? Many complex solutions exist to deal with behavior like this (https://www.businessinsider.com/keep-people-from-swiping-to-other-photos-with-this-iphone-trick-2014-10). However, I am interested in something a little more convenient and intuitive.

I want to bring a photo up on my smartphone and select a little padlock in the bottom corner of the photo. The photo remains on the screen so I can hand the phone to another person to view (the user is allowed to zoom). If the user attempts to swipe they are met with a password prompt. Bam!

I need all of this by Friday, if possible.

Thank you.

Coffee horrors: automated store spiraling, part II

Years ago, I categorized a nearby automated store as unusual art on display (part I of this article explains why). An odd structure to be pondered from a distance and expect nothing functional in return. I was ok with this arrangement for some time. Then, one day, I set out for work and forgot…COFFEE!

Walking to my office in a caffeine-free fit of stomping irrationality, I reach the ever-present automated store. Its shelves are as bare as all days before with lighting harsh enough to see through bone. A crow screeches in the distance.

From the street, I stop and stare at the automated store and its fancy automated coffee machine. The coffee machine glistens proudly amongst the barren wasteland of displays. Topped by a glass bin of coffee beans, the unit screams clean and functioning caffeine joy.

I debate for several minutes by making excuses for this wreck of a business and ignoring all rational thought. Nothing justifies my next move other than sheer hope for a coffee miracle.

I place a coffee cup on the tray and press a button. A horrible grinding sound begins. I convince myself this is the sound of coffee beans being prepped for the best-tasting coffee in the world (beans picked fresh from a beautiful orchard in another land by a handsome and shirtless man).

Suddenly a giant black hose on the side of the unit does a little dance. Pressure in this area quickly morphs into a crescendo of hissing madness.  I take a few steps back just in time to miss huge globs of moldy horror spitting from the machine into the cup and surrounding sticky surfaces.

How does one handle a situation like this? Under the best of circumstances, I see no other way than the way I handled it. I screamed, cussed a little, and ran the rest of the way to work.

I am left with so many questions.