When I was a kid in the early 1990s, there was a novelty item on the market called "Monster in my Pocket". Being too young to laugh at the glaring innuendo and a child always a fan of the obscure, I embraced the trend with full on enthusiasm. The monsters were strange. Most of them were not anything I hadn't seen in movies or books, but a few were. The monsters really didn't do much, other than set and look strange. On the bottoms were carved a number so you could "do battle" with other monsters like some primitive Pokemon. They came prearranged, signed, sealed and delivered to end up in, not your pocket, but on display amongst the sea of other toys in your bedroom that you've decided you've grown bored with. I suppose lacking any kind of movements for functions was a trick to inspire imagination into the children, but likely was a tactic to avoid putting too much effort into something to market, sell, and cash a check. After all, each monster was completely monochrome in person but the packages, designed to catch a 6 year old's eye, were very elaborate, enticing, and graphic. Like all toys, they became a relic of a time when I wasn't too cool to play with toys and eventually took a place on the shelf in the back of my mind reserved for nostalgia--a place that I revisit when I'm stressed with the adult world, drinking (just enough), or browsing Buzzfeed.
Instead of concerning myself with the imagination and the micro chasm of characters I create for my friends and I, I've graduated to carrying the wealth of human knowledge in my pocket instead. Of course, we never call it this. Most people just call it a phone. With the same distance I reach for my car keys, I can reach to access to find out a list of Babylonian kings, how to fold a pocket square, or the winner of the 1939 World Series. With it, I also have access to people in this world that I would never have had the chance to encounter otherwise. Facebook is the obvious choice that comes to mind in this mindset, but it's typically reserved for keeping in contact with people I care enough about to browse mindlessly, but not enough to actually call or visit in person. Clearly the businesses and bands that advertise feel the same way about me.
The veritable treasure of human contact comes in the form of dating website apps--OK Cupid, Plenty of Fish, Tinder--pick your poison. They all function in the same way--bringing people together that would normally be too shy to speak in situations or have not deviated from their routines enough to actually meet a group outside of their bubble. Most of it relies purely on statistical probability--the hero and slayer of human relationships since the beginning of time. Without physical interaction, there remains enough mystique in another person that they can still maintain your ideals while you put off the disappointment until you find another thumbnail. We've been reduced to thumbnails. I have a few paragraphs and my best picture, which is probably misleading but only has to grab your attention, to impress a girl into maybe getting coffee with me. Options--options everywhere. There's plenty of fish in the sea, but it's really hard to catch just one. Statistical probability. The names start blending together after a while. I read the paragraphs on the profile, the blurb designed to get you to buy the book and catch your interest just enough to buy it but not give away too much. I ask the questions--school, family, work. Weeding out like a job interview, pretending to give my consideration while I know they're doing the same to me. There's nothing like two people dancing who are looking at everyone else over the respective partner's shoulder. After all, with all of the options, it'd be a shame to miss.
The distance is remarkable. With so many humans, lives, stories, biological cases of emotion all at a finger tip away I still feel a sense of isolation. Living alone I realize the only true conversation I've had all day is with a woman I've never met and know almost nothing about. Is this how things are done these days? I make awkward small talk through a few clicks on a fake keyboard. Maybe things will work out from here--we can only hope but I'll never get my hopes up. Getting my hopes up is hopeless. It's hard to care much for someone when they're reduced to a few pixels and photons at the tip of your finger--some quantum physics we'll never care to understand but can't survive without for a weekend--or an hour. At least when the barista asks me how I am, she has to at least smile and pretend to care, because I'm standing right there. It's amazing how a bit of biological interaction with our species can create a concept of rude. I'd never flat out ignore another human that asks me how I am. A Tinder match--absolutely. You're not a real person. Yet. You could be my soul mate or just another picture in an electronic frame. It's really a matter of how awkward we're willing toymaker this or how many chances we are willing to take.
