![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
May. 19th, 2001 08:02 pmI had to visit our local shopping mall today, and while eating lunch I came to the following realization: food courts are the ultimate cyberpunk setting.
There I sat in a climate-controlled (almost) enviromnment, surrounded by people eating pre-packaged "ethnic" foods and speaking a dozen languages. Everything is fake, plastic and chrome. All around neon lights compete with ceiling mounted video displays which run endless loops encouraging us to buy the fashion of the second.
My pizza was served by a chinese teenager with streaked purple hair and a nose piercing. I got my beer at the "American Cheesesteak Co" from a young man with a distinct Russian accent. Everyone was wired.. cd, mp3, palms... everyone was locked into a personal electronic world.
Teenagers declaring their indivdulity by dressing identically held court over burritos and Cokes. Carefully watching the other cliques, but never interacting. Tribal warfare waged with Visa cards and fashion decisions.
And eveywhere the neon lights refelcting off chrome and plastic. That muted roar of a mass of humanity, everyone so carefully ignoring everyone else. Who needs mirrorshades? Just read the liner notes on your new CD..
As I left the mall, I felt a sense of loss. I felt at home in that anonymous mass. That, and it was good pizza.
There I sat in a climate-controlled (almost) enviromnment, surrounded by people eating pre-packaged "ethnic" foods and speaking a dozen languages. Everything is fake, plastic and chrome. All around neon lights compete with ceiling mounted video displays which run endless loops encouraging us to buy the fashion of the second.
My pizza was served by a chinese teenager with streaked purple hair and a nose piercing. I got my beer at the "American Cheesesteak Co" from a young man with a distinct Russian accent. Everyone was wired.. cd, mp3, palms... everyone was locked into a personal electronic world.
Teenagers declaring their indivdulity by dressing identically held court over burritos and Cokes. Carefully watching the other cliques, but never interacting. Tribal warfare waged with Visa cards and fashion decisions.
And eveywhere the neon lights refelcting off chrome and plastic. That muted roar of a mass of humanity, everyone so carefully ignoring everyone else. Who needs mirrorshades? Just read the liner notes on your new CD..
As I left the mall, I felt a sense of loss. I felt at home in that anonymous mass. That, and it was good pizza.
