If I could have dinner with any fictional character, it’d be Dr. Manhattan from the graphic novel Watchmen. Not because I think we’d become best friends. Hell, he’d probably spend half the dinner explaining how every moment in time already happened, is happening, and will happen while I’m just trying to figure out if the fries are getting cold. Humans worry about tomorrow. Dr. Manhattan is already living next Tuesday. Must be nice.
I’d spend the whole meal asking questions about the universe, time, and whether humanity is actually capable of getting its act together. Judging by everything I’ve seen lately, I’m guessing the answer is, “Not really.” It’d still be fascinating hearing it from someone who sees the entire timeline at once instead of doom-scrolling through headlines like the rest of us poor bastards.
The funniest part is that dinner would probably be completely pointless to him. Food? Optional. Conversation? Temporary. Existing as an all-powerful blue being who can rearrange atoms? Tuesday afternoon stuff. Meanwhile, I’d be over there stuffing my face, trying to squeeze every bit of knowledge I could out of the guy before dessert showed up. Priorities.
Then again, maybe that’s the lesson. We spend our lives stressing over traffic, bills, work, and whatever fresh circus the internet cooked up today. Dr. Manhattan would probably look at all of it, shrug, and remind us that we’re tiny specks floating through an unimaginably huge universe. Somehow that’s both depressing and oddly comforting. At least I’d leave dinner with a full stomach and an existential crisis. That’s about as productive as most family gatherings anyway.