I Don’t Play Games

Six years. That’s how old I was when I first started regarding the contents of my pockets as my “inventory”. That’s how old I was when I first attempted to teleport, double-jump, spinning bird kick and hadouken. And that’s how old I was when I first became horrifically disappointed with my lacklustre abilities as a human being.

Although I love designing them and testing new ideas, I don’t play computer games anymore. I don’t have a modern Xbox or a Playstation. This is partly because I’ve always been the kind of person who struggles to distinguish fantasy from reality. I often sit here on my floating mushroom and wonder what life would have been like if I’d been born with dragon breath, or the ability to shoot solid rainbow bridges from my fingers. Sometimes when I’m working in the office I get the overwhelming feeling that I’ve picked up some kind of speed powerup, and I start running and jumping about, throwing people thumbs and peace signs like the uncool human version of sonic the hedgehog.

When I was 6 I used to breathe on people, citing it as a powerful weapon. I’m not sure if it was lethal or not, but my brother didn’t appreciate it. As I progressed into teenage years my conversation skills devolved into simply picking the best response out of my three available options- “Fantastic!”, “Your mum!”, and “How appropriate, you fight like a cow”.

When I hit 19 I turned on my “always run” option. That was useful. Sports and athletics became a lot easier. But when the back of my left knee inexplicably started to hurt after a half-marathon, my physio told me that I should have been “stretching” before and after doing anything energetic. Eh. I’m not exactly sure how that’s supposed to work; my prior experiences with exercise have consisted solely of Killer Instinct and Street Fighter II Turbo, and the only “stretching” moves I know are Dhalsim’s basic kick and punch attacks. So I spent several misguided weeks practising power combos, which just made matters a hell of a lot worse.

Deus Ex has firmly instilled in me the belief that wherever there is a combination lock, there is also a homeless guy nearby who knows the code. My search for “secret areas” down strange-looking corridors has often led me into meeting rooms or private functions which give me no bonuses, powerups or new weapons. It’s like every aspect of my subconscious is utterly convinced that somehow, somewhere… I’m getting points for whatever I’m doing.

Increasingly, I am getting frustrated that I don’t have a theme tune. I feel that a poppy, racing synth bassline would improve my life, and improve the lives of the people around me. It would also add context when I pick up my speed powerups and stop me from looking like an over-dramatic arts student to the people in my office.

But the worst thing is that in this life, there is no storyline. No epic event to unfold, no pre-destined “Interesting Things” to fill the time and populate my little life with the meaning I crave. There’s no final boss to kill, no great reward, no helpless princess and no high score. I get the impression that I’m just a Sim, and my primary goals in life are to eat, wash, sleep and go to the toilet often enough so that I don’t become unhappy, lose my job or wet myself in public.

How distressing.

Sure, we’ve had this problem throughout history. Life does seem like a bit of an anticlimax after the promises of films, books and stories. But I’d argue that this generation has a new hurdle – computer games that put you directly into the role of the hero and give you a video and audio link to this new, emotionally-disconnected reality. It’s fun. It’s awesome. It’s super effective. And it makes it increasingly hard to accept that you’ll be working in an office until 2040.