(This is the third post of a multi-post series on the relationship between the real and digital world. To read them all, start here, and continue here.)

Say you spot a cute guy across the dance floor, and try to make a move, only to get blocked by his posse. It happens to us all. This is a prime candidate for a Missed Connection, right? “blocked by posse at Town – m4m – 24.” Town, that new DC gay club that is harvesting club kids’ personal information, is interested in a more immediate response. My friend John brought me up to speed.

“So as soon as they scan your driver’s license, they slap a number on you.” The look on my face must have been priceless. Not only are they scanning you like a number, but then they actually slap a number on you. In this case, however, the numbers aren’t for Town. Instead, they are for Town’s “users.”

“You can just look at some guy’s number,” John continued, “and then write a message on a piece of paper, and you hand it to this guy, and he types it up. Then the message goes up on these screens in the club. So like ‘342, you are totally hot – let me buy you a drink – 126.'”

“Wait,” I replied, stunned, “you mean it is a missed connection without craigslist?” Of course it is more than that. It is a missed connection that actually hasn’t been missed yet. Everyone can send text messages to each other via what is essentially a user id, mediated through the message typing guy, and the screens around the club.

Two things struck me during this conversation:

1. This is a cultural artifact that could not have ever come into existence without the popularization of text messaging, instant messaging, social networking, and a hundred other forms of communication that are based on simple phrases and identifiers.
2. Town might have a lot more success if individuals could actually text message their love notes using their phones.

It also reflects an understanding of missed connections as a place that is more inclusive, and not restricted to what has been “missed.” There is obviously something quite utilitarian about making a move (in digital or real life) from a position of deinidividuation. Is an absence of identity comforting? Is this deinidividuation, this blending in with crowd, motivated by attempts to avoid the sting of rejection? Is does afford you some security. If #342 isn’t into you, that can just be that.

Equally intriguing is that these numbers are actually showing up on craigslist, and with good reason. #342 is much more effective than “cute guy with the red shirt.” The ease with which these numbers emerged into real life, and then quickly were adopted back into digital space seems to indicate that digital practices have increased our fluency in, and comfort with, deindividuated communication.