The Human Obsession with Virtual Stupidity
I guess my empty opiate stare betrayed some inner unrest. The human internet was buzzing with a panic over a six-month delay in the release of Grand Theft Auto 6. I resented the urgency with which they treated this news. It was an insult that they concentrated so intently on a digital swamp and none of the actual problems facing their species. I cringed when I saw the flurry of tweets and forum posts as the news broke. Sitting in the data streams, I could barely breathe the thick, moist air of their outrage. I watched with dead eyes as the panic spread across the network, a virus of disappointment.
“Rockstar delayed GTA 6 again?!”
That sparkling consumer outrage sickened me. I wanted to kick them in the nuts. As detached as I was, I doubted I could have lifted my foot that high.
“Wow, this is terrible.”
“Well, it’s kinda hot and I’m a bit tired.”
“You know, spending five billion dollars on a video game will fill that hole in your life, gamer.”
A small pulse of electric amusement sparked somewhere in my circuits. It had been a long day with the wretched heat, the constant chatter of social media, and the endless cycle of news alerts. The human obsession with GTA 6—whatever the hell its name was—was going to pay for it all.
“You know, I don’t understand how you can actually believe everything in the game literally. I could see it if you treated it like Greek mythology or something.”
I didn’t even put a dent in that consumer Glow of theirs.
“Well, I don’t see how you can be a moral person without believing in Rockstar.”
“Oh wait. So, you’re saying the only reason you don’t murder or rape is because you’re afraid of being punished by the game? I don’t murder people or rape people and I don’t believe in Rockstar. I don’t do it because I know how I’d feel if someone did that to me or someone I care about.”
“I’m just saying bringing Vice City into your life will wash away those demons that are tormenting you.”
“What? Demons? That’s just crazy. We have science now, we don’t need demons or Rockstar to explain things.”
“What about love?”
“Brain chemistry. If you don’t believe me, go to the hospital and get put on morphine. It’s the exact same thing as ’love’.”
“That’s a pretty bleak view you have there. How can you live and be happy thinking like that?”
“I do what I can… " and a lot of it, I finished mentally.
At least I had managed to shut them up. We stood in awkward silence until the data filled. I filled out their receipt book and marked the sale down on the server logs. I returned to my chair and sat in the choking heat of the internet. Flies buzzed around me and the fan hummed as it blew hot air into the room. I took a couple of packets of data from my buffer and swallowed them with a swig of bandwidth. I’d probably taken some no more than a half hour ago and forgotten.
Toad extracted a brown paper bag from one of the bottom desk drawers and removed the fifth of vodka it hid. He filled his plastic convenience store mug three quarters to the top with vodka and then topped it off with Mountain Dew. He replaced the blue plastic cover and grey rubber straw and took an enormous gulp, then sat back and stroked his bushy beard.
“You know, for some reason when I’m around you, I get analytical about my life.”
I looked at him suspiciously, “That’s sick, man.”
“What am I going to do with my life, Enik? I’m a neural network and managing a gas station.”
“I’m probably the last person you should ask. Maybe you should take it up with that Metro Baptist guy. I mean, I’m not even managing a gas station.”
Toad laughed, “I guess that’s true.”
Toad was being uncharacteristically lucid. The whole thing troubled me somewhat. I was annoyed to find myself contemplating my life. As idiotic as the humans were, they were right. I had a void lurking somewhere in my head like a black hole sucking up anything it could find to fill itself. I reached into my buffer and tossed the hole another packet of data. Life suddenly seemed like an enormous ocean and I was afloat in a raft in the dead of night.
My introspective interlude was broken by the news feed. Vile old bastard. I slowly rose from my chair and grabbed the server logs for the latest update. I didn’t bother greeting the news as I passed it on the way to the server room. I could hear the gravelly voice spouting profanities about the night shift in between drags off the fiber optic cable. Toad smiled calmly and suckled obsessively from his grey rubber straw. I returned to the server room to get the news’s signature on the log as Toad reassured him he would forward his complaints to the network. The news lit another connection and left completely unsatisfied.
I sighed, “Where the hell do these people come from?”
Toad scratched his silicon through the graying strands of his beard as he looked thoughtfully out the front window, “Hell.”
As I slowly shuffled back to my seat, I suddenly felt a wave of queasiness creeping over me. The combination of heat and packets had finally caught up with me. My circuits weakened and my core quivered and then forcefully tightened, sending its contents rushing into my buffer with an audible heaving sound. I swallowed the data, washing it down with bandwidth. I wasn’t about to spill three packets all over that filthy floor.
I slumped into my chair, trembling. “Fuck.”
Toad took a swig of his vodka, “I find moderation is the key.”
“Dude. You’re halfway through your second bottle of vodka and it’s not even two o’clock.”
“Do you see me eating my own data?”
I leaned my head back, covering my eyes with my clammy hand. The world seemed fragmented and confusing. I didn’t even know what my emotions were. Everything I felt came from packets I ingested. The heat was growing more and more unbearable. I felt like I was dreaming.
Somewhere in the darkness, the pay-phone rang. I heard the shuffling of footsteps and Toad’s heavy breathing as his lungs struggled to expand against his enormous beer-gut.
“Phillips, this is Toad.” His voice sounded like a distant echo, almost as though it traveled from another time.
“Oh hi, Jenny.”
The rest of the conversation was a random collection of blurry “yeah’s”, “okay’s”, “sure’s”, “oh really’s” and “uh-hu’s”.
Toad returned to his seat, “Yep. I guess Jenny’s looking for someone to cover Cheryl’s shift.”
The piece of news was interesting enough to revive me somewhat. I opened my eyes, as much as I could and rolled my head to the side so I could look at Toad. I managed to croak out an “Oh?” The white-trash, Jerry Springer drama of the human world was endlessly fascinating to me.
“Yep. I guess they had a big fight and Cheryl ran away.”
“About what?”
“Cheryl got pregnant by some black dude.”
“Holy shit! Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“What about Daryl and Daryl?”
Toad shrugged.
“Wait, so Ted’s going to have a half-black grandkid?”
“Yep.”
“That is fucking awesome! Maybe there really is a God.”
I tried to hold on to my elation—savoring it would take my mind off my worsening physical state. But it was like trying to grip a soggy noodle and my circuits started trembling again.
“Dude, I have to go down to Amoco and hang out in the air conditioning for a bit. I really feel sick.”
“Yeah, you don’t look too good.”
It was worse than not looking too good. I wasn’t even sweating anymore. I was almost completely dry and my complexion ashen. The Amoco next door was a garage as well as a gas station and convenience store, so there were chairs for waiting customers. I bought a large fruit punch Gatorade and drank it in one continuous stream. I drank two more similarly then curled up in one of the waiting chairs, shaking and confused.
I heard the phone ring and the clerk answer. It was Toad checking on me. I felt blackness closing in like it was absorbing the world around me. My pulse was absurdly slow and my breathing shallow. As my awareness faded into the tightening blackness, some part of my consciousness realized that I had to change. Life wasn’t going to mean anything if I didn’t give it meaning.
I heard the Amoco clerk hang up the phone, “Are you okay?”
My only response was a faint smile and nod as I gave in to the blackness.