I check my DMs and gasp. Nasty messages flood in. Some of them threats.
Pedo lover.
Rapist apologizer.
Die, you sick bitch. I’m coming for you.
Finally, I land on something that sheds a little more light. A little more concrete than the alarmist headlines that are so out of kilter with reality they provide no insight at all.
My stomach sinks.
Six years ago, I apparently liked a comedian’s post.
It was something that was probably funny back then, but maybe not as appropriate now.
My gut churns more, acid bubbling as I continue to scroll.
Oh no, I reposted it and added a comment doubling down.
Great show with Matt Smith last night.
There’s a picture of me posing with him, grinning from ear to ear, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist like we’re best buds.
Matt Smith.
The latest comedian to get canceled. Apparently, he had a history of harassing underage girls and pressuring them to sleep with him, leveraging his public persona and celebrity status to lure innocent young women into his bed.
I’d read a few of the articles, and wondered how someone in the public eye would behave like that without expecting to be held accountable at some point in the future.
Fuck.
Of course I had no idea at the time I’d made that post.
Not to mention, I’d long forgot that the post even existed. It was so long ago, and such a throwaway evening, I forgot I’d ever even been to one of his shows or—god forbid—posedwith a predator.
I slink back to the table, head down, and plonk myself down on the seat. For a moment, I squeeze my eyes closed, willing this to all be nothing more than a bad dream. Or a misunderstanding that can easily be put right.
“What’s going on?” Soren’s face is concerned, his hand reaching out to meet mine.
“I—I guess now I know what it feels like to be canceled.”
I tell him everything.
He frowns. “That’s so unfair. You were targeted. This shouldn’t be a big deal. Someone wanted this.”
He’s right. Someonereallyhad to go searching for this.
And then they had to get a mob behind it, stirring it up and blowing it out of proportion.
Thisdoesseem targeted. Like someone was intentionally digging up the most benign ‘dirt’ on me and making it into something way bigger than it should have been. Which is cruel,but also not unheard of. Because the truth doesn’t matter on the internet. A speck of dust can be called smoke and then made into fire.
As for Matt Smith, I would happily never watch that comedian again. In fact, I haven’t for years. After finding out what he’d done to these young women, there’s no way I would go to see one of his shows, let alone endorse him.
But I guess that’s not really the point. The internet has a way of twisting context. Of taking things out of the time in which they occurred and measuring you against the yardstick of today.
I push my plate away, my appetite well and truly gone. The once-delicious coffee now tasting bitter and caustic in my throat.
Soren pays, and he holds my hand once we stand, guiding me out of the restaurant.