While many consultants–like myself–frequently highlight mobile’s dramatic changes to American consumer behavior, most are in ways we never would have expected.

My older brother and I went on a road trip recently to hunt for a car. While the car search was a dud, we were about to see how deep mobile technology is embedded in small-town America.

We found ourselves in Osceola, Indiana–population 2,456.

Now there isn’t much in Osceola, especially if you’re hungry. We ditched the idea of a quick sandwich from the gas station and dinner at either of the questionable sports bars nearby. We picked Trevi’s Italian Restaurant expecting some decent red sauce and cheap Chianti.

It turned out that Trevi’s was instead an exceptionally smokey dive bar that served pizza. It’s the kind of place where regulars enjoy cheap cigarettes, even cheaper beer, and lots of 1980’s heavy metal music. And like most small-town bars, they don’t favor fancy, Volvo-driving, out-of-towners like my brother and I.

Despite the PTSD that I was getting from an endless medley of Guns-n-Roses, directly commandeering that jukebox wasn’t an option. When you’re a stranger, dive-bar jukeboxes are like cute bear cubs–best approached cautiously, if at all.

Fortunately, this jukebox was different. It wasn’t a hulking music appliance that would skip if the front door slammed shut. It wasn’t loaded with old vinyl or out-of-circulation CDs. It was a modern, wall-mounted MP3 player with a blue data cable wired up to the ceiling.

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