Gladstone - Notes from the Internet Apocalypse

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For Romaya

Contents

DAY 1. THE HAPPENING

When the great crash happened it was nothing like we feared. There was no panic. No tears. Mostly just slammed fists and swearing. The Internet was down, and hitting refresh didnt work. Ctrl, alt, delete was also useless. No one had Internet. Anywhere.

And we didnt know why. Electricity, running water, and even television were all unaffected. But Internet Explorer mocked us with an endless hourglass, and Firefox just kept suggesting an update that never came. Mac users were confident Safari would never fail them, but it did. Although, because the Internet was down, no one tweeted UGH! Safari! FAIL!

We went to sleep that night with no e-mails sent. No statuses updated. And millions of men all over the world checked that secret panel in their basement wall to see if their old Jenna Jameson DVDs were still there to play them to sleep. Tomorrow, we thought, would be a new day.

DAY 2. THE WAITING

Some woke at dawn. Not on purpose, but withdrawal can be a bitch. They were the first to see that nothing had changed. A few walked out bewildered into the rain. Others remembered that television still had things called weathermen, who advised them to take an umbrella on days like this. By 9:00 A.M. , our mood was best characterized as one of bemused frustration with actual panic still an arms-length away. Many offices canceled work. It was like getting a technological snow day, and swapping the Internet for some time off seemed like a fair trade at the time.

Personally, I was in favor of anything that relieved me of my duties at the New York Workers Compensation Board. Seven years ago, I had overseen the turning of our department into a fully paperless office. The thought of coming back to a desk flooded with photocopies and interoffice memos delivered in scribble-scratched envelopes was too much to bear. Not just the work, but the return to a place that no longer showed any sign of my one accomplishment. My more recent (and last) attempt at greatness was met with less approval. I wrote a memo two years ago suggesting that the state could save millions in worker compensation payments if it delivered free and mandatory antidepressants to all its employees (including employees of the workers compensation offices) to prevent all the disability claims stemming from crippling workplace-induced depression and, of course, botched suicide attempts.

You realize this is your job, right, Gladstone? Noonan asked, curling my memo in his hands. Its not a place for your jokes, regardless of what youve got going on in your life.

I studied the comb marks in his polished gray hair, not fully understanding.

It wasnt a joke, I answered, but it hadnt really been a question.

By then, no one asked me questions. Like when there had been a change in office policy about Internet use. An interoffice e-mail sent to all employees, but it might as well have been sent only to me with a cc to the others solely for shaming purposes. A reminder that the Internet was to be used only for work-based reasons. Certain websites Id frequented had been blocked. Nothing wildly NSFW, but things that couldnt be justified either. Noonan dropped my suggestion on my desk and walked away.

So I was happy to stay home, and did so with a clear conscience, knowing that not everything was broken. After all, my Scotch had yet to suffer any technical difficulties. I poured myself two fingers of The Macallan, pleased with my alcohol-based observation, and considered using it to update my Facebook status before remembering that would be impossible.

DAY 7. TAKING NOTES

One week now and Im trying to keep this journal on more of a daily basis. As real-time as life will allow. I like the writing. Without work and the Internet, I need something to keep me busy. I focus on the pen scratching paper. It directs my mind and steadies my pulse. I can express any idea I want without some Twitter character limit or fear of a TL;DR comment following. Still, I miss the tiny dose of fame that comes from being heard online, where comments are tethered to content people are already reading, and statuses appear instantly on your friends screens. Theres a comfort that comes from knowing people are already staring at the pond when you cast your pebble. Knowing there are witnesses to the ripple before it expands out into nothing. So I play a little game and pretend others will read this. That I have a story worth telling. Otherwise, I might as well go to the gym or do crossword puzzles until the Web comes back.

I should go grocery shopping, but I keep thinking FreshDirect is going to be up and running again.

DAY 8. THE ELECTRONICALLY UNASSISTED ORGASM

Some parts of society are adapting better than others. Most offices are back in session, relying on faxes, phone calls, and the realization that 50 percent of all e-mails never need to be sent. But while Corporate America is finding any way possible to crawl toward profitable quarters, social circles are still floundering. People are trying to remember how they got their essentials before the Internet. Specifically, sex. No more eHarmony or Match.com. No more Facebook creeping. You cant even flash your junk on Chatroulette if you want to. How are we to get our groove on in this new world?

I say we because its easier to talk like that. To pretend this is a history. A contemporaneously recorded log valuable to sociologists researching the moment when the world went offline. But my perceptions come from news reports, not field research, and mostly I only assume the world is wondering about sex because I am. Dr. Gracchus said it was time to move on. To get out more. But after nearly ten years of marriage, I didnt know where to begin. So I stared at the nicotine stains on his fingers and nodded the way you nod to psychologists. They need the reassurance. But now, completely unplugged, Im somehow even more unsure of what comes next than when I first tried to live alone.

Without a computer to put my options before me, I searched my memory, finding only movies from childhood in its place. Where would Val Kilmer or Tom Cruise go to get laid? Bars! And it turns out its true. You can find women there. But unlike the Internet, these women are three dimensional (sort of) and when they laugh, strange noises come out in spasms instead of LOL.

Last time I checked, there was still a bar a few blocks from my apartment. I remember the loud drunken frat boys and wannabe gangstas stumbling outside years ago, looking for their cars at two in the morning. Romaya and I, already in the full-blown nesting mode of an early marriage, would awaken and crawl from our futon toward the window in darkness. Sometimes wed wing pennies at their heads. Other times wed just shout DUH! and fall back to bed while they looked for the invisible source of abuse. I guess it was childish. Like Internet tough guys shaking their fists in anonymity, but we thought it was funny. Besides, I liked to pretend that in their drunken stupors they believed it was the universe itself rejecting their bad behavior. Maybe thats why it helped me sleep. Also, it made Romaya laugh when moments earlier shed been angry. I was her hero.