Laundry Day in a Virtual World
By Christopher LaPorte
When I was nine years old, I learned to love doing laundry. My mother and I would walk to our local laundromat next door to the Waldbaum’s supermarket on 18th Avenue at least once a week. Across the street was the Garibaldi Playground where wooden see-saws and metal swings were launch pads for daredevils with nothing to stop your fall but hard concrete. Super slides with what seemed like two-story ladders were only safe (if you made it to the top) after pouring water down the white-hot sheet-metal chute on most summer days but never a day went by where there wasn’t a line for the adrenaline rush. My mother pushed my baby sister in an oversized navy blue stroller, and I was responsible for our folding wire-frame laundry cart with one rickety old wheel that always seemed to need oil. The walk was about five blocks away from our third floor apartment home in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. When I saw that metal cart sitting by the front door, I was like the family dog realizing the leash is out on the living room table, ready for a new adventure at the playground. While I played, my mother would sit in the laundromat reading a book or crocheting scarves, hats, or mittens for the upcoming winter.
One day, in the summer of 1986, the laundromat introduced a new feature that would forever change me. My mother had already started the color separation process, which meant I was free to run to the park and play with my friends. Once I was given the subtle nod of approval from the matriarchy, I headed back out the door. While I didn’t notice it on the way in, a brand new arcade machine featuring characters inspired by King Kong and Godzilla destroying cities and smashing tanks stopped me dead in my tracks. Unlike other arcade machines, this one seemed larger than most I’ve played in the past. Sporting three joysticks that didn't make the clickety clack sound as you moved them and a colorful control panel that labeled the buttons with ‘jump’ and ‘punch’ in comic book style font, this game Rampage seemed different.
A young man, probably in his early twenties, was using George, the oversized gorilla. After watching for a couple of minutes, I asked my mother for a quarter and selected the green dinosaur, Lizzie. The other player didn’t say a word as I joined in on the action and played what would be my first co-operative video game experience. Until then, video games always drove me from a competitive mindset. Get the high score in Ms. Pac-Man, defeat your opponents in Karate Champ, or clear all four stages in Donkey Kong, these were the objectives in games I’ve played in the past couple of years. But in Rampage, we had a common goal to clear all the stages, and while you can choose to attack the other players, to play as a team would ensure you got the full value out of your 25 cent investment. It wasn’t long before a third player joined in and suddenly the time at the laundromat flashed by in an instant.
Rampage (1986).
Cut to the summer of 2020. I’ve been a die hard gamer for well over 30 years. And while I’ve preached the value of video game communities to my peers and the generations before me, today we’ve seen the industry evolve to become digital playgrounds that are not simply an escape from reality, but a part of everyday American life. Where I once collected GI Joes and Transformer toys, today’s kids are collecting avatars and skins for their video game personas in cloud-based toy boxes. Where local competitions in your living room or the local LAN gaming center gave you bragging rights in your teens, esports have awarded gamers hundreds of thousands of dollars for their video game prowess. And when a nation shuts down to a pandemic, the voices of gamers everywhere are being heard as Americans look for solace through an escape to worlds we’ve called home for years.
In Reality is Broken, game designer and author Jane McGonigal examines the theory, “The opposite of play isn’t work. It’s depression.” The need to improve your performance in a video game results in an experience that rewards you for your ability to “get good.” She makes the case that a “gameful” mindset results in motivation and resilience in the face of everyday challenges. As COVID-19 would affect everyone in some fashion, I knew I had friends and loved ones who would be looking for ways to cope with new stresses and find comfort during quarantine. With video games acceptable to mainstream audiences like never before, I not only focused on keeping my 10-year-old son’s well-being in check, but decided to reach out to friends and family as well.
It didn’t take long before I was scheduling Google Hangouts showing friends how to install emulators on their laptops to play their favorite games from their past. I gifted titles from my Epic Games and Steam collection like Stardew Valley, Untitled Goose Game, Mini Metro, Gorogoa, and Undertale to my non-gamer friends not to overwhelm them with complex controls. For some of my more seasoned gamers, I gifted more challenging titles like Dead Cells, Celeste, Cuphead, and Enter the Gungeon. Over the course of the next few weeks, we’d check in on each other to see how far we all advanced and recount memorable moments in each game.
Celeste (2018).
A friend studying to be a therapist tried to get her hands on a Nintendo Switch. With the consoles sold out everywhere, I had her borrow mine so she could experience first hand the Animal Crossing craze. She never played a video game in her life. When she returned the console to me a couple days ago, she logged in over 50 hours building her villa in her virtual island paradise. Another friend picked up a PS4 and went from all thumbs, bumping into walls in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, to consistently placing first on his team in a matter of months. His girlfriend was having a tough time being out of work with her restaurant shut down and found her release via beatdowns of online opponents in Tekken 7. The bright side of this pandemic was knowing how much my friends and family were finally understanding why video games are so important to me.
That said, my son was going to be the real challenge. While I introduced him to fighting games like Street Fighter and Marvel vs Capcom when he was younger, the Fortnite phenomenon was something I couldn’t compete against. Not only was this game boasting 75 millions players per month, but where I grew up playing Unreal Tournament online with complete strangers in the early 2000’s, my son built a community filled with kids from his school, his soccer team, family in other states, and friends he made at the HyperX Esports Arena. While this year’s summer vacation may not have been all he was hoping for, the connections he had with his friends through Fortnite would create a safe gaming haven through the pandemic.
Over a span of eight console generations I’ve seen video games grow into more than just the action of playing a game. It’s a medium that has become a culture all its own. A collection of digital worlds that inspires creativity, encourages personal growth, develops friendships, and strengthens communities. Video games have become a truly active social networking platform, so it came as no surprise to see the World Health Organization, in April, encouraging people to play more video games. The #PlayApartTogether campaign would promote physical distancing while maintaining social connections through online play. Watching my son play Fortnite during this period brought me not only a sense of comfort, but a sense of pride as well. I’ve seen him play with groups of friends where he filled the role as a leader. I’ve seen a level of maturity develop as he would acknowledge his skillset compared to others and take on more of a support role on a team. In the very same video game, he’s made obstacle courses, small towns, and even his own music in Fortnite’s “Creative Mode.” One Saturday afternoon, he invited me to a virtual concert featuring Travis Scott. The two of us, along with 12.3 million players, played a part in a music performance that you had to see to believe. Today, Fortnite is the closest technology to a virtual world similarly portrayed in Ready Player One. There’s so much more to discover as this “Metaverse” continues to develop and we, along with our children, get to navigate this new frontier.
Travis Scott’s April 2020 concert in Fortnite (2017).
Naturally, my COVID-19 strategy has been fueled through my passion for video games. In a pandemic, we have to manage our anxiety, whatever lack of control we’re experiencing. These games give me agency to overcome challenges both in the game and in the real world, which in turn contribute to my own mental wellness. The games bring me and so many of my friends a sense of comfort. With all this excitement people experience in their gaming lives, I find myself at least once a week, with a bottle of wine (preferably a malbec), enjoying my favorite video games while the washing machine churns and the dryer hums for a couple hours. I really don’t understand why more people don’t love doing laundry.
Images/Christopher LaPorte.
Christopher LaPorte is the founder of RESET, a company developing video game betting technologies for the traditional gaming industry. A graduate of Rutgers College, Christopher moved to Las Vegas in 2005 where he would later open the Downtown Las Vegas video game lounge, INSERT COIN(S) in 2011. Also serving as a Director of the Nevada Esports Alliance, Christopher is working to develop the esports industry in Las Vegas through partnerships with strategic stakeholders throughout Nevada.
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