PokéZombies

The mobile gaming phenomenon takes over downtown Tulsa

The sounds of shuffling feet and clicking thumbs echo through our city at all hours of day and night. Hordes of millennial zombies lurch through alleyways, ambling from bars to restaurants, from landmarks to wilderness preserves. The catalyst for these undead throngs wasn’t 245 Trioxin or radioactivity, but an ancient force known as “nostalgia.” As my grandfather always said: “when there’s no more room in hell, the Pokémon trainers will walk the earth.”

I noticed the undead hordes and endless stream of Pokémon on my Facebook feed and decided to investigate the phenomenon myself. I asked certified Pokémon guide, Boone Reynolds, to take me on an inaugural downtown GO safari.

We met at Soundpony in the Brady district. 

“I caught 30 Pokémon at Turkey Mountain yesterday,” Boone said. “I used an incense, though, and after it wore off it was slim pickins.” 

I asked him if he used a real incense. Like, I know Magikarp are by ponds, but how does the phone smell incense? 

“Dude,” he said, “you gotta download this.”

Within one week of Pokémon GO’s release, the smartphone game was downloaded over 7.5 million times, and just as many people took to the streets to play it. 

The augmented reality game requires players to search their neighborhoods for Pokémon, which appear on their screen in real time. The game is environmentally sensitive, meaning you have to go to the river or a fountain to catch water Pokémon, fields for grass creatures, and so on (there are unconfirmed rumors that rare Pokémon live atop mountains.) Special buildings are “Gyms,” where players can battle Pokémon, and landmarks are “PokéStops” which players can visit to gain items. But the key word to all this is “visit”—as in, physically.

After downloading and booting up the game, a Charmander instantly appeared on top of my beer. I caught it, and a Zubat and Pidgey. Then I caught two more Pidgeys. 

Pidgey is goddamn everywhere.

After padding my Pokédex with Pidgeys at the Pony, Boone and I decided to head to Guthrie Green. Apparently, someone had dropped a “lure” there. Exiting Pony, we instantly ran into a teenage couple with their heads in their phones.

“What team are you?” they asked Boone. 

“Yellow,” he replied, pointing to his shirt of the same color. 

“Well, as long as you aren’t team blue!” they shot back. They were on their way to Cain’s Ballroom, which is a Gym, hoping to turn it red—their team’s color. 

At Guthrie Green it became easier to spot players. And there were a lot more.

A young woman on a bicycle rode to different parts of the park before checking her phone for monsters. 

“A lot of people are using bikes to cover ground between Pokémon,” Boone told me. “I really have to stop catching Pokémon while driving.” Two children played in a fountain while their dad stood by. “Yo!” Boone yelled, “Did you drop the lure?” 

The dad looked up from his phone, turned our way and smugly nodded. “Yep.”

Responses to the pocket-monster-hunting zombie throngs have been mixed.

Some businesses have posted “Pokémon for paying customers only” signs, while others are paying players to drop lures to bring more Pokémon (and paying customers) to their doors. Police warn that criminals might lurk in PokéStops in hopes of mugging players who have their heads buried in their Pokédex, and players who do have their heads buried in their Pokédexes have been stumbling onto bike paths and into pedestrians. City of Tulsa Animal Welfare has invited players to walk their adoptable dogs while playing, helping players “hatch” eggs in the game that depend on real life movement to “incubate.” There’s also a relatively sane concern that the game may be a CIA surveillance ploy, wherein the Pokémon are actually catching us. 

But beyond concerns about safety and the illuminati, the game is getting people outdoors. A lot of people. As one snappy tweet put it: “Pokémon GO has done more to combat childhood obesity in 24 hours than Michelle Obama has in the last 8 years.” 

At Centennial Park, the scene was identical to Guthrie Green. Multiple crews and loners circled the pond while staring into their cupped palms. Passing them would earn us an occasional “what team?” inquiry. One girl told us of a man she saw the day before at Riverside. Apparently he started screaming when his phone froze while trying to catch a Squirtle. 

When you open the game, it cautions: “Remember to be alert at all times.” At 18th and Boston I found out why. 

Walking towards Mercury Lounge from Burn Co, I stepped in front of a car while slinging Poké Balls at a Ratata. Ratata is everywhere, so I’m lucky the motorist saw me and stopped before I died for this ubiquitous rodent. 

Mercury Lounge is also a Gym, and outside of it we found a tattooed ginger-bearded man trying to claim it for his team. I walked to the Shrine mural, which is a PokéStop, and snagged a few Poké Balls. As I walked back across the street, the man walked away, somewhat dejectedly. 

“Y’all have a nice day,” he said. 

Looking at the screen I saw that Boone had turned the Mercury Gym yellow. 

Heading back towards the Brady, we stopped in the Blue Dome District, where the neighborhood’s titular landmark is a PokéStop. I was reminded of Boone’s warning not to “Poké and drive,” when I sat through a green light to catch a Doduo.

“Ooh!” Boone said, before sprinting onto 2nd Street. “When this light turns red, I can snag a picture of the Blue Dome with a Pidgey in the frame!” 

Even though the game hadn’t been out for a week, I was confident that motorists knew what Boone was doing on his phone in the middle of the street. 

On the way back to Pony, I realized the new perspective I’d gained with my brief downtown PokéHunt. Like slapping on a pair of “They Live” sunglasses, I could instantly tell the PokéZombies from normal pedestrians. The leisurely gait, the gaze into the phone, and the smile worn while exploring their town are all dead giveaways.

For more from Mitch, read his article on former (and probably future) mayoral candidate Paul Tay.