I learned of this odd social experiment a few weeks ago when I happened upon it randomly. I’m unclear what drew me in. Possibly the unpretentious witnesses. I’m guessing more the black backgrounds. For some reason, I really like it when my background doesn’t feel distracting.
I call it a social experiment because it felt like one. It was true stories, as told by those who survived them, in grizzly detail. I mean, who does that? In my own experiment/experience, once polite conversation goes off on tragic tangents, especially the likes of the I Survived crowd, people immediately feel so uncomfortable as to find plausible excuses to exit the conversation. I suppose, then, that the experiment is seeing how long these people can go before we’re all too uncomfortable.
And I got uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. But I kept watching. ‘Cause I had to know. Which is, I suspect, what makes it
good interesting television.
The cases ran the gamut. One guy whined about being bitten by a rattlesnake. Another guy bitched about surviving a plane crash.
The shit that really grabbed me was the truly awful, very personal shit. The shit that made me question the survivability of humanity. That made me wonder why anything’s worth it. Continue reading