Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Microstory 278: Perspective Fifty-Three

Perspective Fifty-Two

I work at the airport hotel. It’s not the most glamorous job in the world. It’s not even the most exciting job I’ve personally ever had. But it can get interesting. All kinds of people stay here. Some of them are creepy, some are very loud and obnoxious, and some are quite pleasant. Tonight one of the guests is a teenager who has never been away from home before now. He went off to a special music camp out of state. He was supposed to go home today, but his flight was delayed so much that he would have missed his connection, and so the airline put him up with us. He’s not a little kid, so he can take care of himself, but it looks like he gets nervous, and he probably has trouble trying new things. I’m happy to help him, though, because he’s a decent person. We’re hosting a guy who I find incredibly distasteful. He runs a class for people trying to pickup women. He claims to be gender neutral, and all inclusive, but I don’t see any women in the conference room. I don’t think there are any gay people there either. I met my wife the old fashioned way; in college, through a friend of a friend. That’s how it’s supposed to be done. These kids and their phones and emojis. They don’t connect with each other anymore. Is nothing sacred? My God, I bet in a hundred years, people will all be living in a virtual world, so they never have to actually interact with each other in person. They might not have bodies anymore; they’ll just be computer programs. And it’s guys like this who are driving us towards this terrible future. I don’t know what he teaches these lonely hearts, because I don’t really want to be in there once the class has started, but it can’t be good. He’s probably just going over how to—what did my nephew call it—swipe right? Apps. Apps for everything. When I was a kid, apps were food you ate before dinner. I bet there’s an app for ordering an app in your virtual world where you build farms and blow pigs up and crush candies. I’m not sure what that last one is about, but I’m not even that old. I just know what life was like when you were expected to actually live it. Why can’t we get back to that? Let’s go back to the good ol’ days.

Perspective Fifty-Four

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