Cancel Culture

Cancel me, and I become your pariah.  I become your pariah, and I become your downfall.

    It was an unusually cold March when Thomas noticed the change.  The change in how he was treated by those people around him.  It started slowly, like a friend not returning phone calls, plans cancelled at the last second by friends, and spending more and more time alone.  Thomas kept trying to tell himself it was some coincidence or mistake that was occurring.   

    Thomas worked in a software office scanning lines of code, searching for discrepancies in the programming.  The work was relatively simple but took a tremendous amount of effort to focus on.  Thomas found his mind wandering while he took breaks to avoid the strain of focusing on all the intricate code details during his work in the cubicle.   The pay wasn’t great, and his coworkers seemed out of reach for making any kind of meaningful connection.   

    Thomas lived alone in a pleasant looking 2-bedroom apartment.  He took 2 rooms in case he had guests at any point.  The extra bed and mattress seemed like a waste since he so rarely entertained company.   Thomas had simple furnishings, cheerful yet cheap knick knacks, modernist light fixtures, and a few photographs of flowers on the wall.  It wasn’t much, but Thomas happily called it home. 

    It was on March 12th that Thomas got a phone call from his longtime friend Gregory.  Thomas had just gotten home from work just a few minutes before his phone rang.  “Hi, Thomas.  This is Greg, and Uh.”  Gregory trailed off for a second, as if straining to find some missing words.  “I saw that you finally called me back after almost 2 weeks,” Thomas said with a pinch of irritation.  “To be honest Thomas, I really don’t think I should spend any more time with you. I just need my space.  Sorry.”  Gregory’s terse goodbye alarmed Thomas immediately. 

    “Gregory!  I don’t understand.  Did I do something that...”  Thomas continued until he heard the phone click and knew that he had been hung up on.  Thomas put down his phone and morosely slid onto his sofa.  Thomas tried to play back all the memories of the past month to try to discover exactly what he might have done to make his friend treat him this way.  It was like a sinking feeling in his gut that drained all the color from his face. 

    Thomas tried to see if he could figure out what exactly was occurring with Gregory by calling their mutual friend Alex.  The phone rang 2 times and went right to voicemail.  Thomas suspected that his call was ignored.  Alex was usually free this time of day, so it didn’t make much sense to Thomas.  Thomas tried a different tact after that unsettling phone call.  He intended to call his parents.  They were relatively old but still were sharp enough to provide some kind of insight. 

    Thomas got through to his parents' house at least.  “Hello hon,” his mother in a slightly sheepish voice.  Thomas explained the phenomenon that was occurring with his friends.  All kinds of other details came out.  How he had to wait 40 minutes to be seated at a restaurant that was barely half full.  How his mail would be thrown on the hallway floor under the mailboxes.  Thomas wanted to be sure he wasn’t just coming undone, and that there were some kinds of demonstrative forces at work here.  His mother responded, “Thomas, don’t worry about it.  If you see life’s normal troubles as all connected, then you will think there is a terrible plot against you.  Honestly, you sound like you are just being paranoid.”  Thomas sank further into his couch.  This was not the comfort or explanation he might have hoped for.    

    His mother hurried him off the phone shortly after, and Thomas was left with a sickening feeling before he fell asleep.  He would wind up spending the remainer of the weekend either in bed or binging streaming programming on his TV.  He wanted to be a more active person, but the feeling of abandonment had left him feeling completely isolated and alienated.  It was as if the energy was being sapped from his very being.

    Work the following week was of little help to Thomas.  He kept hearing whispers from his coworkers.  Mostly from the people he rarely talked to.  What became more disconcerting was the fact that people that Thomas thought he had a solid rapport with, were suddenly finding convenient excuses to avoid conversation.  Even eye contact sometimes.  One of his closer work friends, Mark, told him he had to work on a meeting project when Thomas asked to go to lunch with him.  Thomas later saw Mark during that break, laughing and having a grand old time with some of the other workers. 

    He was even called into his boss’s office near the end of the day at the end of the week.  “Thomas, I am afraid to tell you that your reviews are not looking good.  Your handling of the encryption files has fallen a bit short of our expectations.  I was really hoping that I could motivate you to reach a bit higher.  We don’t need people working here to just get by, we need them to succeed.”  Thomas had no strong responses to the corpulent bald man that had just summoned him.  “Try and spend some time with your friends this weekend to loosen up your mind,” his boss (Mr. Thomkins) said with an impish grin. 

    Thomas felt such disappointment and irritation that he might have been speeding just 6 or 7 miles per hour before he got home.  He saw the familiar lights of a local police cruiser behind him.  Thomas was stuck for at least twenty minutes waiting for the officer to give him a ticket.  The officer reminded him that he was speeding in a construction zone and therefore the fine would be doubled.  Thomas looked in his rearview mirror and saw that the construction area was empty and almost 2 miles behind him.  How could the cop have seen him going that fast?  He didn’t think he was going that fast.  Either way, he didn’t have the time or the stomach to dispute the ticket in court.  Looked like the town treasury was going to get another deposit at Thomas’ expense. 

    Thomas got home to his apartment and somberly collected his mail.  It was 2 credit card bills, a cable bill, and what looked like junk mail.  Thomas collected his things and went home, stuck the ticket to a magnet on the fridge, grabbed a beer, and fell back into his couch.  On this couch nothing could hurt him.  On this couch he would not feel the bitter sting of rejection and sorrow.  Thomas was just starting to relax when he heard a knock on the door.  He slowly marched to the door to see the visitor that was surely here to torment him. 

    It was Mrs. Garabedian. Mrs. Garabedian was a kindly Armenian widow that lived a few apartments down from Thomas.  She smiled as Thomas opened the door.  “Excuse me young man, but could you help me with a leaky faucet?  I have been asking the landlord for several weeks now and he still hasn’t sent anyone in.”  Thomas instantly felt discomfort at the prospect of entering this woman's apartment and doing some project.  Even worse, Thomas had barely any knowledge of home improvement projects.  He could turn a leak into a full-blown flood. 

    “I would like to help you ma’am, but I am just not that good with that kind of thing.”  Thomas stated firmly, feeling supremely unwilling to perform as Mrs. Garabedian’s projects.  “Nonsense! You can get it done.  I have faith in you, young man.”  She flashed a toothy grin that made Thomas uncomfortable even more so.  Thomas let out a sigh and rolled his eyes and agreed to help her.  Thomas followed Mrs. Garabedian into her apartment, as she muttered about disrespectful pissant neighbors.   

    Thomas spent the better part of an hour trying to fix that faucet by tightening certain pipes and nuts.  He was using tools from a toolbox provided by the late Mr. Garabedian.  They were certainly not a top-notch tool set.  Eventually, Thomas just tried to cheat his way through it by using duct tape to wrap around the pipe just to shut up Mrs. Garabedian.  Before Thomas could leave, Mrs. Garabedian asked, “While you are here, could you...” and out came a laundry list of projects from boxing up old possessions, cleaning to places she couldn’t reach, and a myriad of other tasks.  It took up Thomas’ whole evening. 

    Thomas retired to his bedroom that night riddled with thoughts of despair, suffering, and the bitter and lonely farce that was his life.  He tried with all of his inner strength to find a reason to stay positive.  It was becoming just too easy to become dyspeptic and at a loss for reasons for living.  Thomas thought to himself that maybe this might blow over for a second, but the thought of blowing over seemed to apply to him.  He saw an image of himself being blown away by a gale-force wind in his mind instead.  It was a metaphor of his life being blown away like garbage in the wind.  It was personification-based visage of his condition appearing in his mind.  Sleep did not come quickly or easily for Thomas. 

    The next day at work, Thomas was on his way to the bathroom, when he heard one of his coworkers, Shirly, laughing and sharing some vituperative statements about him.  “Did you see how Thomas is proving himself to be a callow person? It is so obvious he won’t last in this company!”  She added with a shrill laugh that caused the blood to rush to Thomas’ head.  That was like the glass breaking in Thomas’ ear.  The silent explosion that pushed a man too far. 

    “You know what you are Shirly?  A complete moron, you, and anyone who agrees with you!  Anyone at this company who lacks the courage to say what they are thinking to me can choke on their own egos!”  Thomas’ words were accompanied by a cascade of spit.  Sweat was beading on his brow, and his chestnut brown hair was becoming instantly matted.  Shirly just looked back at him and said, “You have a violent temper, Thomas! I am going to human resources and ending this charade, you call a career!”  She immediately got out of her chair and stormed off.  The woman and intern that she had been speaking with, both eyed Thomas with disgust. 

    Thomas returned to his desk and tried to find calm.  He tried to find his center.  There was a center within Thomas that did not wish harm upon anyone, a truly gentle soul that desired only harmonious companionship with his fellow species.  It was token some people take for granted, and some, so desperately wish for.  Thomas was trying to find the words to apologize to Shirly or create some kind of narrative that didn’t involve Thomas in a far worse place.  That far worse place was calling to him, just that second. 

    The phone on Thomas’ desk rang moments later and the voice of Mr. Thomkins could be heard with irritation, contempt, and a mouth full of pastries.   Thomas was being summoned to HR to stand judgement for his little outburst.  Given the climate of the world in general, Thomas expected no mercy.  In fact, he expected to be shot with a magnum promptly.   He made a slow ambulatory course toward the office destination. 

    After what seemed like hours of pondering his own demise, he arrived at the door of Martin Cooley.  Mr. Cooley always presented himself as a new-age type that would play Buddhist chants while meetings took place or offer ceremonial tea to people during conflict resolution efforts.  Martin Cooley at the very least, seemed to be a man who would be at least a little empathetic to a man under as much duress as Thomas was.  Thomas was seated in the chair. 

    Martin began by reading a report of what had happened.  The alacrity of the report appearing on his desk since the incident occurred was staggering.  It was now clear that so many malevolent forces were converging at Thomas that a swift death might be the only clear answer to this whole dilemma.  Martin began talking at length about how people have feelings that need to be respected and how violence would not be tolerated at the workplace. 

    All the while, the voice of Martin Cooley faded away like elevator music that he couldn’t even interpret.  The welling of hatred and despair that clutched at Thomas’ insides was a deafening roar.  The world seemed to turn into a blur of noise and colors.  It was kind of the way that you would think it looked like when you were first born.  It was just a “buzzing and blooming confusion” as the philosopher William James put it.  Thomas had returned to that natural state. 

    Thomas got out of his chair and fell to the floor.  He tried to both curl up into the fetal position to drown out the insanity surrounding him as well as swing his fists madly at anyone who approached him.  The result of the two horrid emotions colliding was the sight of Thomas on the ground of his place of employment looking like he was having some kind of medical emergency.  Just as Martin tried to approach Thomas to get a clearer understanding of the situation, Mr. Thomkins had burst into the room. 

    Mr. Thomkins was ready to turn this incident report into a full-blown job termination.  Mr. Thomkins was an obsequious manager that always opted for the most severe punishments.  Thomkins wanted Thomas removed from his position and company property with as few spectators as possible.  He wanted to make sure that Thomas could get no sympathy and could create as little discord as could be.  Thomas was rolling onto his knees, hunched over and breathing through the throes of a severe panic attack. 

    Several minutes later, two heavily muscled security guards had entered the room and took Thomas by the arms.  They had escorted him out of the building and practically dragged him completely off the parking lot.  Thomas kept trying to stammer something about clearing off his desk and one of the guards just told him to keep quiet.  The other guard, a bit more sympathetic, told him that his stuff would probably be delivered to him. 

    The weeks that followed were filled with unresponsive employers.  It was filled with no promises of job interviews, and personnel that would direct his calls to a web of automated lines.  Thomas was suddenly feeling the shock of what some thought might be “cancel culture.”  Thomas had heard of such a phenomenon but had absolutely no idea what might have triggered such animosity against him.  Perhaps there was some confusion?  Perhaps he had said the wrong thing to the wrong person?  Perhaps the world was simply going crazy and imploding on its best. 

    Thomas tried to muster support on internet discussions, podcasts, blogs, social media sites and any other means of projecting himself into the digital world.  Nothing appeared, no views, no comments, no likes, no attention, no hits.  Thomas was not even able to find himself on the most prolific search engines on the web.  It was like someone was scrubbing his existence off the internet.  These were dark times for Thomas. 

    Hygiene went by the wayside for Thomas as nothing seemed to be worth the effort.  He had neither the money nor the inclination to go out.  He was never a particularly gregarious person, but now, it was just becoming absurd.  His parents were no help.  They insisted that this was his problem and that he would just have to solve it himself.  It was surely his fault that people turned against him so completely.  Thomas wasn't even sure whether he could or couldn't agree with the sentiment.  It wasn't the "why" that mattered, it was the "what's next" that frightened him.

    Thomas’ ability to speak began to degenerate as his human contact dwindled.  It was becoming harder and harder to remember what a good conversation felt like.  The thing he wanted to ask people the most was, “can I have some money?”  This was because Thomas had no savings left and the rent was becoming delinquent.  He was becoming emaciated and sunken eyed with insomnia.  Thomas only had a very short period before he would be cast off into the hard streets.  Thomas began always brandishing a weapon, for he thought at any moment, he would have to fight for his life. 

    The county sheriff eventually showed up at his doorstep.  It wasn’t much of a fight when Thomas attacked Sheriff Calister with a kitchen knife.  The sheriff wrestled him into submission in under 2 seconds.  It was over and Thomas had a new home, the penitentiary.  Thomas was unable to afford bail or an attorney, so it would off to face the worst part of human nature in a cell with many hardened criminals eager to do him harm. 

    Thomas made a genuine attempt to befriend those around him at the state correctional facility, but it, for some reason, only made things worse. He was teased at first, with vile nicknames and taunts.  He found meals and showers to be a terrifying place where he was constantly intimidated by stronger males.  Thomas didn’t have anything to live in here for and nothing waiting for him on the outside.  His parents found the idea of even visiting him just a little too out of their comfort zone.  Thomas was alone. 

    Perhaps it was never the death penalty that was Thomas’ sentence, but it was the result.  He, in the court of public opinion, was a monster, was treated as such, and left this world as.  The guards made a half-hearted attempt to protect Thomas.  It wasn’t even entirely the failing of the guards.  Thomas’ will to live had become so drained, that his subconscious mind pushed everyone around him like a lamb to the slaughter.  

    Thomas was unable to fight against a world that made him a pariah and was unable to be victorious against a slow and creeping entropy that eats people alive.  His fate was not isolated as the world around him suffered that which they did to him. Without a person like Thomas for the vultures to pick apart, they were forced to turn to one another.  It was a row of stacked dominos, all falling down in an orchestrated dance.  Was it the will of modern society to commit collective suicide?

What became of Shirly?  She was mocked by own friends until she took a bottle of sleeping pills and a heavy dose of red wine.  She laid dead on the floor of her kitchen for 3 days before her husband came home from out of town and discovered her. 

What of Mr. Thomkins?  He tried to show everyone that he could be healthier and was on track to becoming a better self.  One day, while adorning an all-black track suit and jogging in his neighborhood, he fell over into a row of manicured bushes and died of a heart attack.  Local children poked him with sticks for over three hours to see if they could “make the fat dead man fart.” The children were beaten by their fathers and mothers when they got home and heard the news. 

Martin Cooley seemed to have things figured out and surely remained in the good graces of the world around him.  That was, until the day he left the country on an exciting back packing trip.  It would seem that another foreign government was not as approving of his alternative lifestyle as his home country.  It became a point of international debate of whether what the country in question did to him should be condemned.  And boy, did they do something terrible. 

Maybe Thomas’ friends had more luck than the others.  No.  Sadly, they were all victims of the same social weaponization scheme as their former friend.  They all tended to end up in suicides or murders.  Maybe the good sheriff?  No, he enforced the dystopian law of a disconnected sovereign.  He would go on to shoot over 6 people to death in a public park.  He would then be suspended without pay and take out his fury on his wife, which led to tragic divorce. Not to mention the guards in the state prison who would be massacred during a frenzied prison riot. 

His parents seemed to weather things the best as they died alone, old, and without a legacy to carry on their name.  We could all die lonely and without an heir.  It would the end of the world as we know it.  Maybe something would carry on, but it wouldn’t be human. 

Perhaps this could be the world we live in.  Perhaps this could be the fate of so many people that we could otherwise find it in our hearts to love.  Remember not to turn your backs to people around you.  You might find when you separate yourself from others, you are making a war.  That is part of what I call the “Public’s Great War with Itself.”  It can only end if we learn or we die.  I prefer the former.