Cheer the blessed end of ‘Fast Times at Cellphone High’

This week marks the blessed end of an era: Our fast times at Cellphone High are coming to an end.

To protect students from their addictive technology, schools throughout New York state will now enforce a bell-to-bell ban on personal devices such as smartphones, smartwatches and tablets.

The question isn’t whether Gov. Kathy Hochul’s new policy is correct, but why it took so long to enact.

After teaching high-school English in New York City schools for parts of three decades, I can without hesitation say “good riddance” to this persistent distraction in our halls, cafeterias and classrooms.

In the fall of 2004, I had no clue that cellphones would play such a huge role in my career.

They weren’t supposed to disrupt class, overshadow authority and create general havoc in our schools, but they did.

It was charming at first, that tech-savvy freshman capturing board notes with his flip phone — but with the advent of smart devices, the deluge began.

Soon pictures of exams from Period 1 were in the phones of Period 5 before lunch.

Then the pizza guy was at my classroom door wanting to get paid, while the girl claiming to be sick dipped under her jacket to text Mom, and intimate pics of the couple who broke up during homeroom found their way to 100 devices minutes later.     

If you’ve ever wondered how so many kids from so many buildings know the exact time and place for an after-school meet-up on the Ave, those plans were made in class while some teacher discussed Boo Radley’s character development.

In 2006, Mayor Mike Bloomberg enacted a citywide ban on cellphones in schools — but students found ingenious ways of sneaking them in, enforcement was spotty, and the distractions continued.

Then Mayor Bill de Blasio played the role of cool uncle by lifting the ban in 2015, saying it was “out of touch with modern-day parenting.”

We teachers have given our students the same directive for over 20 years now: Please put that thing away.

They’ve been unable to comply. At the heart of every scandal, dramatic breakup and student melee, there it was, this glowing object in their hands during school hours.

So this week, expect to hear the clucking of tongues and kissing of teeth throughout an entire state.

Eyes will roll and feet will stomp as they process their new reality.

Be prepared for the dummy-phone trick, handing in a broken one, while the real one is stashed away, god knows where.

Don’t be surprised when that broken toilet on the second floor becomes very popular, and the cast-iron radiator in Stairwell B is flanked by whistling, teenage sentries.

Expect to witness the five stages of grief from Montauk to Massena, and, yes, it will be difficult not to turn to my colleagues and say, Hey, they did this to themselves.

Except they didn’t. None of this behavior was a secret. Everyone knew what was happening.

This should have been an all-hands-on-deck issue for an entire country from the moment it began.

Bear in mind that Generations Y and Z are the first young people in history to have their minds manipulated by this spectacular storytelling device that fits in their pockets, a never-ending saga of heroes and supervillains, with levels of narcissism never seen before.

Children, by nature, are already drama seekers without having some buzzing contraption of likes and followers handed to them, a global madness on par with Europe’s first taste of sugar. Frankly, they never stood a chance.

It’s terrible to see that disturbing look of determination in their eyes. You call out their names to break the spell, but it does no good.

With 6½ hours of mandated peace every school day, there’s a possibility that cooler heads will prevail.

The excitable boy who completes his assignments in two minutes, the most eloquent and robotic prose AI ever produced, must now sit with his thoughts and do real work, and the brawl down the hall could end with handshakes, not posted on Worldstar until the end of time.

If limited screen time prevents one epic beatdown at the local McDonald’s, then it’s worth it.

Some of the most remarkable children on the planet attend NYC schools. You just haven’t met the real them yet.

I’m no Hochul fan, but she’s right on this, and it’s long overdue.

J. Bryan McGeever teaches writing and literature in New York City public schools.