It was a social experiment. Nothing more.
We were in an elevator. Me and Bill. Bill is an academic researcher, dealing in human behavior. Also rats. He knows a lot about rats. Whereas I am a redhead.
It was a large elevator. There were maybe 14 passengers. The supermarket downtown is swanky. The big elevator carries you from the parking garage to the main level.
“Pay attention,” said Bill, as we boarded the sardine can.
“What do you see?” he whispered into the redhead’s ear.
For starters, almost everyone in the elevator was young. And by “young” I mean the oldest among them was probably early 20s.
“That’s because this supermarket is located near the college,” said Bill.
The elevator stopped. More people got on. All young people. The lift stopped at another floor. Another young group shuffled aboard.
There might have been 20 of us now. Everyone was a baby compared to Bill and me, who are both old enough to remember when Lawrence Welk officially went off the air.
“Are you paying attention?” Bill asked.
I nodded.
Although, I wish I hadn’t been. Because I was immediately struck with an eerie feeling in this elevator. Namely, because everyone was staring at a device. And I mean everyone.
Nobody made eye contact. Nobody seemed to WANT to make eye contact. Nobody offered the quick, polite social smiles our mothers taught us to give others. Nobody acknowledged boarding elevator passengers with warm looks and brief nods.
Nobody seemed aware of anything. They just stood there. Numb. Head craned downward. Staring at the iridescent blue, opiate glow of their touchscreens.
The elevator doors opened. We were on the main level now. The elevator emptied.
“Follow and observe,” said Bill.
Together, we sort of followed the young people around the store. At at distance.
The kids were awkward. Their interactions were awkward. Sometimes it was downright cringy. Like the kids didn’t know…
