His uncharacteristic reaction is explained by the contents of that night's claw machine: live lobster. Confronting that twist on a classic game, his aficionado's impulse was to appreciate its novelty. Can you blame him? There's something irresistible about deploying the claw against a lobster, of all things. Pondering the prospect for the first time, it seems impossibly fitting and obvious. How did we have the claw and the restaurant lobster tank for so long without marrying them?
But as he stood, joy stick in hand, claw descending toward the lobster, Ferra began to feel conflicted. The prize was resisting! At first, it wasn't enough to dissuade him from further attempts. This man is a born claw machine operator. One doesn't acquire his skill leaving empty-handed. But at $2 a try, he soon told himself it was time to stop, a prelude to his parking lot reckoning. "I don't know what to say," he confessed to the camera. "My heart started racing. And I was like, Oh my God. I started to realize
-- I thought they were docile or whatever, I didn't know they moved so
fast and stuff. And it was kind of like fighting the claw, which would
be cool if they didn't tape it up so it had a fair chance. It would be
able to fight the claw. All I can say is that I'm glad I didn't win
anything. And I'll probably never play that thing again. Because it's
just creepy is what it is. It's really freaky and creepy. All right, I
mean, it was an experience for sure."
Watching that moral confusion, I couldn't help but think of David Foster Wallace's essay "Consider the Lobster," published in August 2004 after the late, great novelist was sent by Gourmet to cover the Maine Lobster Festival. "Is it all right to boil a sentient creature alive just for our gustatory pleasure?" he asked. "If you're tilting it from a container into the steaming kettle, the lobster will sometimes try to cling to the container's sides or even to hook its claws over the kettle's rim like a person trying to keep from going over the edge of a roof. And worse is when the lobster's fully immersed. Even if you cover the kettle and turn away, you can usually hear the cover rattling and clanking as the lobster tries to push it off... The lobster, in other words, behaves very much as you or I would behave if we were plunged into boiling water."
He adds that the spectacle causes some cooks "to leave the kitchen altogether and to take one of those little lightweight plastic oven timers with them into another room and wait until the whole process is over." Compared to all that, grasping the lobster in a claw unlikely to hurt it and dropping it into a chute seems downright humane. So it is interesting that playing the claw game is enough to make us uncomfortably aware of the lobster's sentience in a way a mere lobster tank isn't.
That's my experience anyway.
I wasn't aware of these lobster machines, which have popped up in various United States locations in recent years, until last week, when I came across one at The Bear Flag Fish Company in Newport Beach, California. I go there for the fish tacos and the scallop burrito, itself a noteworthy innovation. Afforded those options, there is no situation in which I'd want to eat lobster.
But when I saw the game I had to play it:
It's hard to articulate. If you came upon a BB gun in a field, then spied a tree stump 20 yards away with a tin can atop it, would you feel compelled to shoot? Can people skip stones in your presence without your wanting to join? Does something about the game Hungry Hungry Hippos delight you? Do you have a desire to hunt that is totally divorced from a desire to kill animals? Either you understand the impulses I'm grasping to explain or you don't possess them.