You’d think that age would breed maturity. That becoming a father, being approved a mortgage and the general congestion of adult life would inform how you’d maturely perceive the world. Don’t be silly! If a fart noise escapes from a rear end, you’d better believe I’ll be there giggling next to a 7 year old. Especially if it’s one of those elongated ones that squeaks out like trumpet. As the old Chinese proverb says “If an old lady trips over her pomeranian and I’m the only one around to see it, will I still laugh?”. Yes. Yes I would. Embarrassingly loud! I’m actually chuckling to myself right now thinking about it. The point being that even in my thirties I can still tap into that juvenile part of myself that perceives things from a peculiar, yet inquisitive perspective. One of my most enduring beliefs is whether or not characters in games interact with one another when I’m not playing. As ridiculous as that sounds, I still firmly believe that there’s a fully functioning society, socialising discreetly while the game is idle. Here they’re not bound by scripted diologue or preprogrammed paths, but free to explore their virtual surroundings unmolested by my incompetent manipulation.
To this day I still adhere to these infantile fantasies that give substance to the inatimate. Games still stimulate those esoteric curiosities I used to have. The seemingly pressing questions about a games systemic constructs that are still so important. Usually its concerning the most arbitrary and benign observations. For instance, where do residents in the Pokemon games go to the toilet? Seriously, every commercial or residential building seems to lack this most basic facility. Many of these properties are usually inhabited by pets that are presumably expelling regularly quantities of Poke poo. So where does that go? I certainly don’t see any kind of waste disposal outside where such deposits could be disposed of. And as much as I respect the protagonists “fourth wall” breaking perogative to own the same games console that I’m currently playing the game on, surely a onsight latrine is a much more valuable resource. This isn’t the only architectural omission that I’ve questioned in this world.
I’ve often found it curious that residences in Pokemon, particularly the main protagonists humble abode is frankly a little too humble. The house itself is usually two story, consisting of a living room, kitchen and dining room, with a bedroom on the second floor occupied by a desk, bookshelf, Television, Games console and a bed. Which begs the question: does your mother sleep with your character? Do they have an oedipus complex? Is that why the mother is often so cavalier about her child’s sudden departure to become the very best? Because she no longer has to endure the unrecipricated advances of their offspring? Or perhaps one of them slept on the sofa, I don’t know.
I could go on questioning other logistical inaccuracies that fascinate me in games, but I think I’d bore even myself. Whether it’s characters adventuring with enough equipment to stock a small supermarket without being encumbered, nor displaying a perceptible means of hoarding so much baggage. Or a characters indelible aversion to permanent death, these are the kind of questions I’d always ask myself, and seemingly still do. Imaging that these npc’s interact with one another while I’m away, for some strange reason is a comforting notion. Especially as they’re more than likely wondering where they can poop!
Are there any strange observations you’ve made while playing a game that you’d like the answer too? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.