Social Media: Vapidity Solved

“What was that, Dad?” I asked as we were led to our table.

“I said that it wasn’t like this in my day,” Dad grumbled as he removed his coat. “They’re everywhere you bloody look. People see the world through a screen nowadays, and I don’t care what anyone says. It’s not right.” Dad nodded his thanks to the waitress who had pulled out his chair.

I glanced around but found I couldn’t disagree. The homey restaurant was full of people staring down at their laps. “I guess you're right.”

I slid into my seat and relaxed, glad of the restaurant’s warmth after the nip of the air outside. The restaurant was busy, as usual, and the air smelled of home-cooked deliciousness that made my stomach growl.

“What will it be this week, Dad?” I asked, wondering if he could be distracted from his forthcoming rant.

“I mean, at least in the past you could have heard the ‘click’. Now you have no idea who is taking a picture, or whether you’re in it!”

I laughed. “I hardly think anyone will want to take your photo, Dad.”

A different waiter brought over our usual bottle of red, and as normal, Dad brushed aside the offer of trying it first.

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said, making a mental note to speak to the manager about how well the new waiter was doing.

“I’ll be in the background though, won’t I? It used to be quiet in here,” Dad said grumpily as Charlie left. “Before this lot got hold of it.” He waved at the full restaurant and I noticed that the tables were filled with young faces. Social media influencers, perhaps, and those trying out their recommendations.

I took the menu from its holder and pretended to read it, but after so many years, there wasn’t anything I hadn’t tried.

“Buonjiourno Signore, Signora.”

I shrieked in delight and jumped out of my seat, allowing myself to be swept into a huge bear hug from Uncle Luciano. “It’s you! When did you get back?”

Luciano laughed as he repeated the hug with my Dad. “Yesterday, but I wanted to surprise you. You look good, brother,” said Luciano, looking at Dad. “A little older, maybe, but good!” Luciano ruffled my dad’s white hair and then ducked away from the inevitable, following punch.

“If I look older, you look older, you idiot,” said Dad to his identical twin.

“Still grumbling, Antonio?” Luciano looked at me and winked. “I guess I got the looks and the good humour!”

I laughed. Despite their identical appearance, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Luciano was full of life and positivity, whereas my Dad wavered toward the glass-half-empty viewpoint of life.

“Have you seen it, Luciano?” said Dad, waving his arm around the heaving restaurant and shaking his head. “Papa would turn in his grave.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to make me laugh. “Have I seen what? A full restaurant and money rolling into the tills? Yes, I definitely have seen that!”

“Well, it’s not the same, Luc.”

We sat back down and gestured for Luciano to join us.

“Can’t, I’m afraid. Next week, though, for definite. It’s a date.”

Luciano left us without bothering to take our order. Now he was back in the kitchen and not in Sicily, we didn’t need to.

“Now then,” I said as I settled back into my chair. I poured us both a generous glass of wine. “How has your week been?”

Dad shrugged. “Same old. I really am serious about all these mobile phones, though. I’m worried for this generation,” he said as he settled his napkin on his knee.

I sighed, knowing that he was going to talk about whatever was on his mind, regardless.

“I do understand your point, Dad, but it’s great advertising for the restaurant. And free advertising, too, let me add.”

“Look though. Really look. You’ll see what I mean.”

I looked around the small, kitschy, Sicilian restaurant that was a second home to my family and sure enough, most of the people seated at the small tables had a device in their hands. Some sat with friends or partners silently, and others were taking pictures of their food as it was brought to them. Out of a restaurant of twenty tables, only two others were phone-free.

“Huh,” I said. “I suppose I hadn’t noticed.”

“And do you know what else I have observed?” Dad said, leaning in. “These people, the younger ones especially, they’re barely here, do you understand?”

I frowned. “Not here?”

We paused as Charlie brought a steaming pot of mussels and freshly baked bread to the checkered table. I groaned as the smell washed over me. “Mmm. Thanks, Charlie. I love it when Luc is in the kitchen!”

Dad smiled. “I know. Me too. But don’t tell him I said that!”

We laughed as we began dipping our bread.

“You were saying?” I prompted.

“Oh yes. These creatures of today,” he pointed his bread in the general direction of the other diners, “are so involved with their online thingamajigs and wotsits that they don’t notice what is in front of them. They’re not here, in this world. Not present. You can’t smell food through a screen!” he scoffed.

“I suppose you could look at it like that.”

“Father Damian spoke in church on Sunday about the End Times… you know, when it all goes wrong.”

“The Second Coming and all that?” Despite Dad going on full rattle, I had to admit that this was one of the more entertaining lunches I’d had with him in a while. Last week it was the state of potholes in the UK.

Dad nodded, his mouth full of bread. “Mmm hmpf. And there is this part in Timothy that is uncanny. From the Bible, I mean. Here.” He wiped his hands and then reached into one of his voluminous coat pockets. He pulled out a crumpled pew sheet from the previous Sunday

I straightened it and read out loud. “Don’t be naive. There are difficult times ahead. As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money-hungry, self-promoting, stuck-up, profane, contemptuous of parents crude, coarse, dog-eat-dog, unbending, slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God.”

I sat back in my chair surprised. “Well, I guess that just about sums it up! It’s like a tick-list.”

“Exactly. And… wait. I have this, too.” Dad rummaged in his coat again and pulled out a different scrap of paper. “I’ve been reading about the Amish…”

I looked at him aghast. “Again, Dad? Haven’t we cleared this up? How you couldn’t possibly go…”

“No, no,” he waved his hand at me. “Not that. Just that they believed taking a photograph of someone is producing a ‘graven image’…” He paused as Charlie took our plates away and then carried on, mid-sentence. “But they also believed photographs would steal your soul.”

I nodded as I swilled my wine in the glass. “I’ve heard of that. Weren’t there some Native American tribes that also believed the same?”

Dad looked surprised but pleased. “I didn’t know you knew that. Yes. Exactly like that.” Dad leaned in conspiratorially. “Angelica, with all of these photographs and videos people are taking, what if young people don’t seem like they are here, because they aren’t really here?”

I took a large gulp of wine and looked at him over the rim. His warm, brown eyes behind his little round glasses, were serious. “You think they’re… what? They’re losing their souls bit by bit? Photo by photo?”

Dad nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly that. I knew you’d get it. I tried talking to your mum but she wasn’t for having it.”

I laughed. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“But you do, yes?” He looked at me, hopefully.

I thought for a moment. “I suppose I do see what you mean about there being a… disconnect for some younger people. I have to admit that I’ve wondered if the art of conversation will eventually die out. I mean, if everyone is in their own homes talking to each other via text and such, when are they getting together to talk in person?”

“Exactly. And I read in the paper yesterday…”

I stifled a groan and an eye-roll. “Tabloids again, Dad?”

“Well, yes, but they had a point. Did you know teenage pregnancy rates have dropped massively in the last ten years?”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s a good thing though, right?”

“Of course, in some ways, but it just means that young people aren’t getting, you know, together anymore. Like you said, they’re in their own homes.” A serious look passed over his face. “It’s like 1984,” he whispered.

“I think you’re running a little far with this, Dad!”

“No, stay with me. Let me explain.”

He paused for breath, but as he did, our food arrived. Luc had sent us both lasagna, just like Nonna Carla used to make.

Dad carried on between mouthfuls. “I just reckon that it all needs some thinking about. The Amish and the Native Americans could have been right all along and with all these social media sites and such, and people doing all of this ‘self-promotion’ stuff, it’s worrying. And from what I’ve heard,” he waved his fork in the air to illustrate his point, “most of the things people say aren’t true anyway!”

“I think you’ve got that bit right,” I agreed, blowing on my own fork.

“And what if, Angelica, what if all of this is being driven by the enemy? What if social media influences have actually sold their souls to the devil? And what if he is using mobile phones to take the souls of everyone else?”

“You mean, what if it’s Satan?”

“Shh! Don’t say his name out loud! People will think we are crazy!”

I chuckled. “I think that ship has sailed, Dad.”

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Who am I to know what’s going on? I just think that there might be more happening than we realise.”

I looked at him across the table, taking in his earnest expression and conviction. He was nothing if not committed, my Dad.

The rest of the meal passed by in a blur of normalcy, talking about Mum, the kids, appointments and such, and before I knew it, I was back out in the cold, headed home. But as I walked with my head down through the busy streets of Manchester, I remained thoughtful. The Christmas market stalls were being built and there was a sense of hope in the air that I only sensed at this time of year, but my Dad’s wild conspiracy theories stayed with me. What if the world was going to hell in a handcart because of social media and the internet? What if these sites and apps were created to provide a beautiful distraction from the crumbling and failing world around us? And what if he’s right about our souls and our screens? As my feet pounded the pavement I thought of the social media influencers my two daughters liked. They seemed shallow and self-absorbed and lacked a depth of character and personality to an extent I found worrying. But what if all of that time behind a camera was responsible for this? If the camera was leeching their souls through selfies and videos, was this why they seemed so… vapid?

I sighed and pulled my scarf tighter. If these aren’t the End times, I thought to myself, then they are definitely strange times, and I’m not sure I like them. Not one bit.