when you're trying to tell someone something and they just keep looking at their phone the whole time instead of actually listening to you

You're mid-sentence about something that actually matters to you, and they nod at exactly the wrong moment—suddenly you've accidentally told them you're adopting a second mortgage. They look up, say "that's great," and go back to their phone. Now you're stuck: do you correct them, or do you just become a homeowner and see where it goes?
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when you're trying to have a conversation and someone keeps looking at their phone instead of actually listening to you

You're mid-sentence explaining why your job is slowly killing you, and they nod at exactly the moment their phone buzzes—so now you can't tell if they're empathizing with your existential dread or just got a notification from their banking app. By the time they look up, you've already decided you're not worth listening to and switched to commenting on the weather. They ask "wait, what were you saying?" and you say "nothing important," which is the most honest lie you've told all week.

When you're trying to tell someone something important and they just keep checking their phone the whole time.

You're mid-sentence explaining why you're quitting your job when they glance down at their phone. You pause. They nod—still looking. You continue. Their thumb scrolls. You raise your voice slightly, as if volume will compete with whatever notification just landed. By the time you reach the part about the new job offer, they've achieved a kind of meditative state, phone in lap, eyes unfocused, nodding at intervals like a dashboard bobblehead. You finish. They look up and say, "Sorry, what?" You realize you've just spent five minutes auditioning for an audience of one who was permanently in the bathroom.

When you're trying to talk to someone and they keep looking at their phone instead of listening to you.

You finally get your friend's attention to tell them about your terrible day, and they nod while scrolling—then ask you to repeat the entire thing because they "zoned out for a second." That second was seven minutes. You've now told your story twice, to someone whose eyes have never left a screen, which means technically you've been talking to a phone the whole time. At least it didn't interrupt me with its own problems.

When you're trying to tell someone something important and they just stare at their phone the whole time like you're not even talking.

You're pouring your heart out about something that actually matters, and halfway through you realize they're reading a recipe for air fryer chicken wings. So you keep talking anyway, just to see how long it takes—turns out you can describe your entire existential crisis and they'll still ask "sorry, what?" the moment you finish.