Within 24 hours of playing "Pokemon Go," I found myself in a nasty pickle. I started playing this last Saturday (July 16), making me officially slow on the uptake of this phenomenon, and I found that there are essentially two types of people who play this game: aggressive, boisterous nerds with jealousy issues and quiet people who are looking to play with friends or to make new friends by playing. I’d like to say that I limited my behavior to the second category. I’d like to say that I never looked at other people with a judgmental eye for occupying the second category. Unfortunately (but fortunately for this article), I found myself doing both of the things listed above.
I didn’t set out to be the nasty kind of Pokemon goer. I wanted to share in the experience that people were having together (minus the idiotic, stupid, I-cannot-stress-how-stupid running on the freeway for Pokemon). Terrifying human stupidity aside, "Pokemon Go" seemed to be a good way to meet people who also liked the game or at least visit places in the city that I’d never been to before. As I played, however, I watched myself deteriorate into ignoring people too openly and socially shutting down.
It all started so innocently. Saturday night, after a going-away party for my friends, I went with two friends of mine to wander around North Hollywood and really test out the app. We had a grand old time floating through the various streets, perusing gyms and getting Pokestops’ rewards easily. We didn’t trespass on any property or cause some sort of Bacchanalian jaunt. We merely laughed and trapped tiny, digital monsters in tiny, digital capsules.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I woke up and immediately thought, "I should go catch some more Pokemon!" So I took my dog for a long walk. We browsed my whole neighborhood, checking the nooks, crannies and everything in between. I, addiction forming quickly, dropped my dog off when she got tired and continued to the train. The train became my secret successful spot, yielding rewards for me.
Long story short, I rode the train one way – to Santa Monica, for water types – and then back, all the way to downtown. As I went, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me. I was perfectly content to exist within the tiny window to the world of Pokemon. That is, until this man noticed my hat. I didn’t really take note of the man when he got on the train – seeing as I was completely absorbed in the game – so when he started a conversation with the top of my head, I had to be roused from my app-induced sleep, roughly. The man was kind, however. He noticed the Monterey Bay Kayaks logo on my hat and struck up a conversation about the ocean. I, not proficient in the ocean, was entirely overjoyed that he did most of the talking, covering topics from the size of seals to the Savannah. A phrase he kept saying that really resonated with me was, “When we out there, we in the food chain.” I can’t tell you why that had so much meaning for me, but I know that he is absolutely right.
When he got off the train, I couldn’t be bothered to play Pokemon for the rest of my ride. After this interaction, I caught myself being more aware as I played and even turning off the app more frequently. It got to be nighttime, and I went for another final walk. I ended up on the train again, headed to Santa Monica. The train was empty. I played halfheartedly, more focused on the view of the darkened homes than the lit screen. Reaching Santa Monica was further proof of the two types of people playing "Pokemon Go" existing. All the angry archetypes were out in Santa Monica. There were people yelling in traffic, boasting on the sidewalks and a pompous, mean feeling filling the air. I, realizing that I couldn’t handle this, headed back to the train. On the train, I looked at my app temporarily, but found myself putting my phone in my pocket and looking around more than playing.
There were happy couples chatting, people listening to music and families returning home for the night. A couple of boys played the game in front of me. As I watched, one of the boys threw his garbage towards a trashcan, missed and continued to play as if nothing happened. A careless shrug punctuated the action. The train doors closed and we were on our way. I, my phone happily wrapped up in my pocket, felt a strong connection with the people not on their phones, for I had just spent almost a whole 24 hours on my phone. I saw human interaction in a new light. These people had found a way, despite the cultural phenomenon, to continue their lives without interruption. I honestly am jealous of these people.
Being the few who don’t play "Pokemon Go" is a special thing – a thing that lets me step off the train late at night and smile at all the people crammed into their phones. It’s really a great thing, but I don’t know if really worth everyone’s constant attention. After all, it’s just trying to promote what we’re supposed to do innately: interact with other humans.
