Memories From the Year 2030 is a collection of fictional letters, memos and visual artifacts created by a group of futurists, speculative designers, authors and artists. Read the entire series here.
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“Hi John. Thanks for doing this.”
“Sure. Grace and Simon speak very highly of you, which reassured me. Can’t be too careful these days. So you want to know about the contact club eh?”
“Yeah - I can’t believe you can get real close. Actually touch people. Break the six rule without a consent contract. OK! That breaks so many protocols. How does it not set off the proximity alerts?”
“That’s the trick - we’re like a Faraday cage. No data gathering or transmission inside.”
“Love it. And what do you call yourselves?”
“Ours is called Haptic but there are lots springing up with different flavors. We’re going for a chilled out speakeasy vibe, but some are more like sex clubs.There’s the full gamut.”
“So what exactly happens? How do you ensure nobody gets fined or the place doesn’t get shut down?”
“Well, we’re pretty discrete. We have to trust each other not to run to the cops obviously, but we’re all friends so that’s not an issue. The great thing is Chicago still has the infrastructure that prohibition used. There’s an underground tunnel that runs the length of Fulton Market with access to all the basements. If someone smells bacon, we can disperse in no time! In terms of safety, the data collected by the government actually helps make sure no one brings the virus in - or at least has symptoms. You can never be 100% sure of course, but we follow a strict code. No contact with anyone outside of your household for two weeks before entry and your Cov-ID bracelet must register your contact trace history as green.”
“Yeah, I heard from a friend who visited one in a neighborhood near here that she had to check her data at the door. She said that clientele can enjoy that “old normal” feeling - standing close to one another, without wearing a mask. Sharing a drink. A cigarette. A dance. Seeing the wrinkles, pores and freckles. She was really moved by it.”
“Yeah it’s so necessary. Especially with all the mental health problems these days. I’ve read about this ‘skin hunger’ disorder that’s really taking its toll. They found that those who have been in long periods of solitary lockdown have eventually become severely clinically depressed. It’s bloody awful. And so widespread. We are all skin hungry to some degree. Starved of contact comfort.”
“So your place is a sanatorium of sorts! Therapy for the skin hungry.”
“You could say that!”
“I can’t wait to try it. What does it cost to get in? Is it expensive to join?”
“No. There is no entrance fee just like any pub, but you need to be nominated by two members - for you it can be Grace and Simon. Once you’re inside though, we avoid real names. It’s a house rule to maintain anonymity. No phones, no photos. 100% reality with zero virtual or hybrid distractions. We just check you in, serve a customized drink and put you on a bar stool. No forced icebreakers or speed dating. Just good booze and good people. Up close. Think of it as an antidote to those elite, gated Covid-free communities that are popping up where everyone’s a straight white hedge fund manager. You don’t have to be rich at the contact club - just interesting...or charismatic...or charming.”
“So when do you open next?”
“We open up tomorrow night for another session. Let's meet 10pm at Peoria and Fulton. I’ll be the guy with the paisley mask. The first drink is on me.”
“Ok great.”
“Until then - stay safe.”
End Meeting for All. Click.
[Written May 14 2020]
Tim Parsons and Jessica Charlesworth are co-founders of Parsons & Charlesworth, a Chicago-based design studio founded in 2014. Parsons & Charlesworth create glimpses into alternate realities, telling stories with objects, and inviting thoughtful questioning of contemporary life.