“You can have a seat right over there.” The aged secretary pointed to a row of chairs in the waiting room, each of which had a privacy helmet attached. The waiting room was empty and the chair looked like a cross between a gaming chair and a chair at the hair dresser’s with the caps that dry and condition.

“That’s alright,” Paul said. “I brought my own.” He held up a full face helmet, much like a motorcyclist’s, that was very high tech looking. There wasn’t much padding on the inside. Instead, there was electrical wiring and magnetic neural regulators. The visor was tinted gold.

“It’s the portable one that just came out,” Paul added.

The secretary nodded and smiled apprehensively. Paul took a seat on one of the plain chairs in the corner and put his helmet on.

Paul had taken a half day off from work. Business at the marketing agency was slow that time of year anyway, so his boss didn’t mind.

As he sat down, he knew he had no obligations: no emails to check, no texts to answer. He had his fill of social media that morning before work—and then again at work. He couldn’t even pretend to look busy. That’s what the helmet was for.

The helmet fit snugly around his head. A voice welcomed him and Paul rolled his eyes around as the helmet calibrated to his movements. The visor displayed several options and Paul selected waiting room mode.

The helmet played music and the visor displayed a band on stage. He had already customized all the settings the night before in anticipation for this doctor’s appointment. The helmet filtered out light and sound from the outside world—all except for a few things you might need to hear in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. “Fill out this form.” “Who’s your insurance provider?” And of course, it was customized to listen for, “Mr. Paul Rolland,” or any variation of the name.

Paul sat back in his chair and let the helmet overtake him. It projected audio and visuals and manipulated his neurons so that he could feel the atmosphere of the concert. It was outdoors on a warm summer night. He felt mist and looked over at the beach in the distance, not too far from the amphitheater.

The door squeaked and a patient entered the waiting room. Paul heard nothing.

Another door closed heavily and a patient paid for her visit with the secretary. Paul was oblivious.

Behind his shield, Paul was bobbing his head to the music and mouthing the words emphatically. He smelled fruit juice and alcohol and lots of weed. The magnetic neural regulators excited his amygdala and prefrontal cortex. Euphoria overcame him. He felt an isolated bliss in this alternate world made just for him.

“The doctor will see you now,” the secretary said from her window. The music stopped and the visor went black. Paul took his helmet off as the young woman across from him simultaneously took hers off. They accidentally made eye contact.

The euphoria was gone. His heart raced and his stomach turned. He felt empty. Transparent. Fragile. Like a glass of water that had been sucked dry.

Paul shoved his head back in his helmet. That eye contact was completely unwarranted, he thought. It was unexpected and abnormal.

“Mr. Rolland,” he heard. The visor lit up.

“Mr. Rolland,” he heard again. He was filled with self awareness and stuck in a permanent state of cringe. His eyes navigated to meditation mode as he couldn’t do anything until he was calm.

“Mr. Rolland,” the secretary said vehemently. Paul didn’t hear her. He didn’t hear a thing besides the steady hum of an alpha frequency. He relaxed back into the chair and put his finger up blindly, as if to say “one minute.”

A gentle voice came over the helmet to guide his breathing. “In. Out,” a woman’s voice said delicately.

He sat there yearning for a time when doctor’s appointments and office meetings and all other personal interactions would be outdated. He imagined a future where virtual reality was the reality.

Why did I have to be born in this generation? he thought.

The portable model privacy helmet sold out the day it launched.

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