I work with some of the oddest, rudest, most super offensive people I've ever met.* I absolutely love it. Every year, at the end of May, we have a company dinner to celebrate the start of our season, and one thing each of us has to do is stand and say something about ourselves that no one else knows. Do you know how hard it is to come up with new things every year that will surprise, and hopefully shock, the wackos I see almost every day?
Last year, I panicked about this dinner days beforehand because I felt that I had nothing interesting to share. I considered saying that I had a tail or that I was really a man,** but at the last moment, I decided to reveal that in 2005 I had joined this new-fangled thing called Facebook. I explained to the crowd that I had enjoyed the Facebook for about four months, and then I was kicked out. Asked never to return. I swear it. And here's the thing: what I thought was a pretty lame confession actually brought the room to a halt. Two-thirds of those present had never known life WITHOUT Facebook. My confession was the modern day equivalent of being excommunicated.
What was supposed to be a one minute confession soon turned into a melee. Questions were shouted from the floor: How is that possible? Did you appeal? Are you serious?
I began to slowly recount the timeline of events leading up to my Facebook dismissal. I explained how I had started my account in early 2005, but how I kept procrastinating about adding a profile picture. I told them that Facebook kept nagging me about it, reminding me that people with pictures had more friends. The kids listening all nodded in agreement; they knew exactly what I was talking about. Facebook is RELENTLESS about collecting friends. I mean, I know the seduction of collecting. As a kid I was a collector of all kinds of things: matchbox cars, stamps, model rockets, and lentil beans***. So, at Facebook's urging, my OCD kicked in, and I started to get a little hooked on the idea of amassing friends. But I still didn't have a decent picture, so I decided to borrow one from the web:
My two sisters were also on the Facebook, and all three of us had had a really hard time posting anything. We're an oddly shy group, and for some reason, posting stuff about our lives seemed like bragging.**** I can't remember why, but I decided one day to bite the bullet and post. And I did. I wrote about how I had just been released from rehab, and that while I knew it was my third time in, I really felt that this one was going to stick. I begged my sisters to let me see my kids, whom, I explained to my 37 friends, the court had taken from me. My sisters replied to my "wall", without any prompting from me, that according to court mandate they could only send pictures of the kids in profile. And, in fact, they did. They posted current pictures of my REAL kids in profile. I thanked them profusely and publicly, and then proceeded to try and get them to lend me a little cash.
This train-wreck-in-slow-motion was, apparently, perfect bait..."friends" starting coming out of the woodwork, and it became addicting. The fame went to my head. I started to raise the ante. My sisters and I would have horrifically public Facebook fights and then laugh together at night as we sipped our drinks of choice and watched the friend requests pour in. For several months, I enjoyed a level of fame that I had only dreamed of. When I went to the center store to get gas, I would see people stop their conversation and stare, whispering to each other and pretending not to see me. It was amazing. And too good to last.
What I hadn't taken into account was that during this time, I was the vice president of the district school board and president of the financial committee. From what I can gather, some do-gooder must have contacted Facebook about the inaccuracy of my reporting, because one day about four months in, I got a notice that my account had been disabled due to IMPERSONATION. I tried to contact Facebook...but let me tell you, it's IMPOSSIBLE. It makes calling the Department of Human Services look like a cakewalk.
How can one impersonate oneself? Isn't it my god-given right to project myself in a bad image if I choose to? Nonetheless, I had no recourse...but I had my story.
So, this was the story I relayed to the group of 130 co-workers sitting in a small banquet hall. And, over the last year, I have enjoyed the notoriety of being the Facebook Lady. But just last week, as I was talking to one of my co-workers about Facebook and Russia and what-not, she suggested that I try opening another account, now that enough time had surely passed. I considered it throughout the morning. And to be honest, I was a little nervous that I WOULD be able to get an account; that I'd just be known around the office as the Double Jointed Lady or the Lady With Five 0'Clock Shadow.
But the gauntlet had been thrown. When I had a moment, I called my co-worker to my desk and began the process of starting a new Facebook account. I entered my information and pressed submit. I immediately got a message saying "Your account has been permanently disabled". I shouted "No Fucking Way!" But secretly, I was pleased.
However, my co-worker was undaunted. She said I needed to set up an account from a computer that had nothing to do with the real me. She offered hers. I went into her office and began again, using her computer and a newly created gmail account. And...it worked!
Within 20 minutes, I had friended all of my office people and had posted a link to FoodTruckWarehouse. I was determined to do it right this time...and then I got bored. Less than 30 minutes into my newly created Facebook page, I posted this profile picture:
To my credit, I still believe I was thoughtful about the aging process, given the 12+ years that had passed since my first profile picture. I think it was realistic. 38 minutes into my second Facebook excursion, my profile disappeared. My gmail pinged, and I received this notification:
And there you have it. My legacy of self-sabotage remains intact. I can't explain the compulsion I have to do this kind of thing. But to be honest, I think Facebook has done me a favor. Nothing good would ever come from my having an account. I truly am part of the problem; never part of the solution. And, at least I'll have something interesting for the upcoming what-you-don't-know-about-me dinner.
* And that says something because my work career has included laboring for an excavation company, working as a midway carny, and delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service. All of which were rude and offensive environments, but not nearly as entertaining.
** But for real...I couldn't do it because the possibility that someone else in the room had the same confession was too great.
*** I shit you not. I had no idea what lentils were, and I continued to be oblivious until half way through college. All I did know was that I kept finding these perfect green-to-yellow little THINGS on the kitchen floor at my friend Amy's house. Keep in mind, this was life in rural Maine and the only beans I thought existed were Yellow Eye, Kidney, and Pea. And those beans lived in crockpots. With mustard and molasses. But Amy's parents were back-to-the-landers from California, and they also walked around the house nude. Enough said.
**** I'm not sure why we thought it would come across as bragging. We weren't doing ANYTHING anyone else could possibly be envious of: "Wow! Just got home from catching earthworms with old man Tuttle to sell at the center store! Going to do a quick tick check and get myself to bed!"
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