We were once promised that the latest technologies would free up humanity's time for high art, philosophy, and flights to other galaxies. Instead, we got home chats. This is a strange digital ghetto where people who were previously united only by a shared elevator and a reluctant nod in the morning now have a 24-hour platform to demonstrate their crises, informs Ukr.Media.
Lawyers say that home chat is now equated to a public place, and for insulting there you can get a very real fine. In my opinion, you should be fined for the very idea of adding people there without their notarized consent. I have long made it a rule to put any mass correspondence on eternal silent mode so as not to shake my nervous system once again. But acquaintances from time to time bring such messages from there that you involuntarily begin to doubt the adequacy of Darwin's theory.
Here, for example, is a classic story that roams megacities. A perfectly decent house, adults with higher educations. The management company warns in advance about a planned power outage from nine to twelve. Naturally, at nine o'clock five, the chat explodes with questions “where did the electricity go?”. This is normal, we are all too lazy to read the ads. But then the thriller begins. Someone writes in a panic: “Neighbors, what's wrong with the gas? It's hissing, it stinks, but it's not burning! I've already called the emergency services!”.
A little later, a large-scale tragedy is revealed: there is no light, the automatic piezo ignition on the expensive hob does not click, and the concept of a regular match or lighter has been erased from memory as an atavism. On the one hand, it is funny. And on the other, it becomes a little uncomfortable from the realization that we live in concrete boxes next to such people.
Or another interesting phenomenon – the total delegation of the instinct of self-preservation. Chats have corrupted us with the illusion that there is an all-powerful “Admin” somewhere. A light bulb burns out – we write to the admin, a puddle on the stairs – the admin will sort it out. But when a garbage container catches fire in the yard, and a person, instead of dialing 101, takes a photo of the flame, throws it into the chat and writes: “Admin, the garbage container is on fire, call the firefighters”… This is already a kind of terminal stage of infantility. It seems that just a little longer, and requests will fly into the same chat: “Admin, order me a coffee” or “Admin, tell my wife that I am filing for divorce, because I am somehow uncomfortable.”
And a separate genre of urban photography, which colleagues regularly talk about. This is a macro shot of dog excrement on the lawn with an accompanying question for a hundred apartments: “Whose dog did this?” Obviously, the author of the shot sincerely hopes that someone will now enter the chat, conduct a thorough visual examination, recognize the author's style of his Yorkshire Terrier and publicly repent.
It seems like these chat rooms were created so that we could quickly solve minor problems and live in comfort. But in reality, we got an endless reality show that proves every day: the more tools we have for communication, the more difficult it is for us to simply coexist peacefully and quietly.
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🤝 Civilized help 🎪 Hotbed of inadequacies 🔕 Long time on silent
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🤝 Civilized help 0% 🎪 Hotbed of inadequacies 0% 🔕 Long time on silent 0% 💡
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