"Who else was in that?" she said.
  I unfolded my napkin and got the silverware out. "I don't remember."
  She got out her phone.
  "No, don't go there."
  "I. M. D. B." Her fingers.
  "Oh, Cristian Douglas," I said. "It was Cristian Douglas."
  Still typing, head leaned back, under the spell of her phone.
  "Yeah, Cristian Douglas and Bob Willis."
  She said nothing.
  "Sheila McIntyre."
  "Yep," she said.
  "Dougie Boons."
  And then, after a minute of watching her lit-up knuckle slide around, past the side of her phone, she said, "Mel Gibson."
  I put my hand over the phone. "Stop."
  She looked around my hand.
  "And-- and--"
  I slammed the phone down and her hand-- I slammed them down on the counter.
  "My phone!" she cried.
  "Stop it."
  "You're no fun."
  Me: "You're no fun!"
  Her: "That was really rude."
  Me: "Don't look things up while I'm talking!"
  She was wriggling her phone out from under my hand, but I held it tight. For a second, I was tempted to yank her out from the booth and twist her arm behind her back, but instead I just let go.

  - why the lucky stiff

It's only inevitable that the problem clearly outlined by the genius why the lucky stiff will be exacerbated with Glass.

It's the digital equivalent of taking a newspaper and holding it in front of your face while talking to someone else.