I haven’t held a Tamagotchi since like, 2003. I have barely thought about the tiny, computerised creature you’re supposed to keep alive like it’s your own precious child since around that time, I’d say.
[jwplayer wVWyAnB7]
Turns out they’ve barely changed (if at all) since then – I learned this after my Editor Josie gave me one she was sent, and told me to see if I could keep the thing alive as a grown adult. Piss-easy, I thought. Surely with all my maturity (no) and years of life experience, I’d be way better at nurturing a tiny computer blob than I was as a child?
Turns out, this is absolutely untrue.
1. Hour One
The first hour with my treacherous demon child was the worst hour. Mainly because I didn’t know you could turn the sound off. I had to watch The Bachelor for work recaps (this was 3pm, we got the episodes early) and every 5 minutes, I shit you not, the little fucker wanted something. It would set off this annoying alarm which I worked out indicated it needed food, entertainment, or a clean up. EVERY. FIVE. MINUTES.
I later worked out this was because it was a needy baby – once it aged it stopped whinging constantly and was a bit less high maintenance. But it was terribly disruptive and most of the hour I left it crying because I couldn’t focus on the spicy drama AND this stupid needy child.
I also named it Fuckface.
2. Hour Three
A couple of hours later someone in the office told me you can actually turn the sound off – SWEET RELIEF. Unfortunately this also meant I didn’t hear Fuckface screaming at me. So I was constantly remembering last minute and feeding it like 40 burgers and playing the number game by just mashing the left button and hoping for the best, because who has time to spend ten minutes playing number games with their dumb computer animal baby!? Not fucking me!
3. Hour Eight
Just before bed I realised I should probably check on Fuckface. I’d left him in my bag from the moment I left work until 9.30pm, but miraculously he just needed his shit cleaned up and he was asleep.
4. Hour Sixteen
In the morning, Fuckface was still asleep when I got up for work – freeloader. What a lazy dickhead, honestly. So I couldn’t feed him before work.
Here’s where shit went bad – I forgot Fuckface in the rush of getting ready. Simply left him on my bedside table. Abandoned my child. I didn’t even realise all day at work because I was so damn busy I didn’t have time to think about him.
5. Somewhere Between Hour Sixteen & Hour Twenty-Four
At some point while I was at work, blissfully ignorant of my unwanted child’s plight, Fuckface the Tamagotchi passed away. Likely from lack of nutrition but also definitely boredom since I flat out hated playing games with it.
When I finally remembered I was meant to, you know, care for the thing, I found it in heaven with the little flashing stars around it’s “alien” (dead) form. This was at like 8pm, so I was a pretty shit mum.
6. What Does This Mean?
Did I fall into a mild existential crisis after neglecting my irritating computer child and letting it die a slow, malnourished death? You bet I did – does this mean I’ll be a terrible mother? Am I a selfish bitch who could not possibly sustain a relationship (somehow I managed to feed my Tamagotchi crisis into my ongoing commitment-phobic crisis)?
Or does it mean nothing at all? Here’s what I do know – my murder of a Tamagotchi highlights that my carefree youth has vaporised. I no longer exist in that lovely bubble you don’t appreciate as a kid, where you can nurture a small, annoying computer baby with the tender love and care it deserves, because you have no other commitments or worries besides “has mum bought me Dunkaroos like I asked”.
Sigh. How depressing.
