Not long ago, I was interviewing someone over the phone when I suddenly became transfixed by a soft bark that emitted from my iPad. The bark came with a tantalising notification: “Your new rustic lantern is ready to decorate your sanctuary!”
My hands instinctively moved to swipe before I managed to contain myself. The lantern wasn’t real. The lantern could wait. I have a job.
For the past few months, I have developed an addiction to a free iPad game in which I assist ageing dogs to enjoy their twilight years in my home for elderly pets. I started with one dog. Now I have five. I have passed 22 levels and obtained several items of furniture by completing mediocre tasks. I pat my dogs when they want pats. I feed them treats when they are hungry. I give them a toy when they “need toy”.
I clean up leaves, poo and chewed-up balls by clicking on them when they appear. I win coins by completing said tasks. That is essentially the game. And yet I cannot stop.
It is not infrequent that I will pick up my iPad to “check on the dogs” (that is the thought that goes through my head – maybe I’ll just check on the dogs) and find myself hours later, sitting in the dark, frantically pressing on love hearts that appear above their cartoon heads so I can collect more coins and progress to new levels.
It’s like gambling, but the stakes are extremely low, and all I’m losing is my precious time.
I’ve stopped reading books. I’ve neglected my own dog to satisfy my fake ones (Mack, Bagel, Leo, Babs and Captain Ron). Each time I check in after a few hours to a flood of coins I get a rush like a shot of heroin.
Is this bad? There is no anonymous group you can join to say you might have a problem with a pleasantly designed iPad game. If anything, it’s just a bit embarrassing, like getting caught with your trousers undone when you leave the loo.
And yet.
When I was at the pub the other day, I chanced upon a couple of young girls playing on their iPads while their parents ate dinner. “How terrible!” I thought. Nobody can just sit back and enjoy the moment these days.
Looking closer, I realised with a sense of dread that the game they were playing was my coveted pleasure.
With a simple Google search, I discovered the game on a string of websites recommending “best games for toddlers” and “best apps for kids (of all ages)”. I have reverted to the brain-space of a toddler with an iPad. This is my reality.
What does it say about me, about my headspace, that I can take such comfort in something that requires the intellectual rigour of a collection of wooden blocks? My suspicion is that it makes sense because the state of the world is so objectively wrong right now. I am gaining a sense of serenity and pleasure from how well my old dog’s sanctuary is coming along and from the new lantern in my inventory to decoratively place in my garden.
There’s a reason we (adults, of which I am one) have turned to mindless TV like Emily in Paris and whatever reality show came out this week in droves, or why people get a weird kick out of menial games where you’re simply completing day-to-day tasks. Sometimes, in an age of saturation, when you can be presented with 100 different ideas in one humble scroll of a social media feed – from catastrophic climate change to Trump hiding classified documents in the loo – games like this are a comfort.
All I have to do is give the dog a biscuit, and he’s happy. And I’m happy. Everyone wins.
