Standing in line to pay for my coke, I eavesdrop on the conversation between the clerk—her name tag says Missy—and one of her regulars, the coffee and paper man wearing a baseball cap. Missy is beaming. “I bought my first house!” she says, “A little cottage.”
Quaint, I thought, the word: cottage. I imagine a little cottage nestled in trees, a storybook dwelling, two cats in the yard, lights twinkling in the window. I can hardly wait to get my turn, so I can congratulate her for her purchase.
"You gotta have something to do when all’s you do is work and go home by yourself,” Missy said—to both of us, me and the coffee man. “Me, I got my animated farm.” Suddenly the lights went out in my mental picture and the cats disappeared. She hadn't bought a cottage after all; she’d added a piece to her virtual farm.
“Friend me on Facebook,” she said to the man. “We can send each other presents.” I imagine cartoon roses and candy bars flowing back and forth, clerk to customer.
As I was walking out, a real flesh and blood man bundled up against the rain was huddling under the eaves. Shivering, he needed bus fare to get home, he said. At five in the morning, there’s always someone at the Valero station who needs bus fare, a doughnut, fuel for his broken-down truck.
In my actual car, heading home to my actual house, the voice on NPR is telling me the number that signifies the dollar amount that CEOs of big banks are receiving this year. I try to imagine the number of zeroes it would take to write those numbers.
Maybe Missy could turn all those zeroes into eggs on her Facebook Farm, organic ones that even poor people could buy. Maybe those Fat Cats could Friend the bums and clerks, the scattered orphans of Haiti. Maybe they could Friend the world.
Quaint, I thought, the word: cottage. I imagine a little cottage nestled in trees, a storybook dwelling, two cats in the yard, lights twinkling in the window. I can hardly wait to get my turn, so I can congratulate her for her purchase.
"You gotta have something to do when all’s you do is work and go home by yourself,” Missy said—to both of us, me and the coffee man. “Me, I got my animated farm.” Suddenly the lights went out in my mental picture and the cats disappeared. She hadn't bought a cottage after all; she’d added a piece to her virtual farm.
“Friend me on Facebook,” she said to the man. “We can send each other presents.” I imagine cartoon roses and candy bars flowing back and forth, clerk to customer.
As I was walking out, a real flesh and blood man bundled up against the rain was huddling under the eaves. Shivering, he needed bus fare to get home, he said. At five in the morning, there’s always someone at the Valero station who needs bus fare, a doughnut, fuel for his broken-down truck.
In my actual car, heading home to my actual house, the voice on NPR is telling me the number that signifies the dollar amount that CEOs of big banks are receiving this year. I try to imagine the number of zeroes it would take to write those numbers.
Maybe Missy could turn all those zeroes into eggs on her Facebook Farm, organic ones that even poor people could buy. Maybe those Fat Cats could Friend the bums and clerks, the scattered orphans of Haiti. Maybe they could Friend the world.
4 comments:
gonna have to read this again, several times I think -- such images
Love it, Linda! I personally don't get all this obsession with virtual farms- virtual anything, really- well unless blogs are considered virtual somethings...haha. Thanks for sharing!
I know nothing about the virtual stuff. It's all news to me. But, I love how this piece winds around and loop da loops and ends up with such poignency.--oh, dear, no spell check ..poignancy? Wonderful prose and social commentary.
such a slice of life, kind of made me sad when you found out it was a virtual farm, scary too....
sort of made my stomach flip....
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