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The scene outside the convention center stops you dead. Hundreds of people scurry around like ants. Geeks and nerds queue up at the doors. Above the crowd, a huge marquee reads Social Media Opportunity Fair.
You do your confidence dance to shake off the fear, throw your hair back, and walk up to the registration stand to claim your badge. You are Tiffany Aikens, you have an appointment, and you are somebody special.
Your heart pounds, but you stuff it down and throw your best power smile at the registration guy. He runs his finger down a list, taps a name, and finds your badge. He points to another set of doors. No queue for you, Girl! You thank him, hang the lanyard around your neck, and hit it.
Past the doors, the hall stretches to infinity. You struggle to get your bearings in the maze of booths and displays of media tools and gadgets. You toss your head and walk it like a pro, ignoring the geeks hawking auto-tracking phone stands, ring lights, LED selfie rigs, and TikTok page-turning rings.
People swarm the merch booths. You breeze past them while ranking the hierarchy. A herd of AI nerds crowd around a software booth. Bottom of the heap, those guys. Not worth your time. And over there, the social media geeks checking out lighting displays and phone stands. They might be movers, but not shakers.
Then you spot a super-hot girl surrounded by a posse. An influencer, for sure, towing her circle. That’s you in a year, Tiff, at the top of the pyramid.
You take in the scene while pretending to ignore it. Merch is not important. These people are not important. You’ve got an appointment with the big dogs, a one-shot chance. All you have to do is find the booth.
Past the end of the aisle, you see it. The RE3 display is no simple pop-up. It dominates the center of the hall. Five interview tables with a trestle overhead and a mylar banner. RE3: ReNew - ReBrand - RePost.
At the check-in desk, a hot girl eyes your badge, ticks a list, and hands you a ticket.
“They’ll call your number. Be ready. Next.”
She waves you off without another word.
The waiting area is a rectangle of folding chairs bisected by a walkway. You find an empty chair and sit, surrounded by the competition. The paper crackles in your hand. Number seventy-seven. Lucky. Your face breaks into a grin.
Five minutes, then ten. You hear the magic number and you’re on your feet. Remember the power walk. You own this.
“Hi, I’m Tiffany Aikens, number seventy-seven.”
“I’m Maya. Listen, we’ve got too many Tiffanys already. Are you willing to change your name?”
“Of course, not a problem.”
“That is the correct answer. Go for something ethnic. That’s hot these days. Okay, look behind you. What do you see?”
“Umm… people waiting?”
“How many?”
“Like, fifty.”
“Close enough. Fifty people for a one-hour slot, five interviewers, ten people per hour. Guess how long you’ve got to wow me.”
“I’m not really into math.”
“No worries, math’s not an asset. The answer is five minutes. Show me something special, show me fast. Think you’ve got it?”
“I’ve got it, for sure.”
“Then here’s the big question. Wrong answer, you go home. Are you a content creator?”
You shake your head hard.
“No way. There’s already mass content out there waiting to be gathered.”
“Well done. You’d be surprised how many idiots blow that. Next, are you hot or cute?”
You hesitate and Maya raises her hand.
“Rhetorical. You’re not hot, so go for cute and funny. Study the bouncy Japanese chicks. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Huh. You sound positive. We like a girl who’s done her homework. Okay, very important. Are you interesting enough to have a vlog? I’ll give you a hint. The answer is always no.”
You smile. Bitch, you don’t know the homework I’ve done.
“No.”
“Follow-up question. Are you narcissistic enough to host a vlog?”
“Hell yes, I am.”
“What does RE3 stand for?”
“Renew, rebrand, repost.”
“And how would you translate that into action?”
“Simple. I use AI to harvest the content created by nerds and geeks, make it my own, and then post the shit out of it.”
“Not bad, Tiffany Aikens.”
Maya checks the timer.
“Two and a half minutes to go. No pressure, right? Next question. Imagine RE3 takes you on as an intern. Who do you want to be one year from now?”
You reach out and grab this moment in a death grip.
“Did you hear about that primitive tribe in the Amazon that suddenly got Starlink?”
You smile at the puzzled expression on this bitch’s face.
“I’m not up on primitive people.”
Of course you’re not, you clueless skank. And here’s where I knock you out.
“This tribe lives in the jungle. No TV, internet, nothing. Then some absolute genius brings in Starlink and hooks these people up to the web. Within a month, the whole tribe is addicted to social media and porn. Can you picture it? A bunch of guys in loincloths huddled around the village monitor. They’re so engaged they don’t hunt or fish. Fuck food, fuck shelter. It’s not about what they need. It’s about what they like. It’s about who they like. That’s who I’m going to be, Ma-ya, an influencer who kicks ass at the highest level.”
The bitch doesn’t blink even when you butcher her name. She scribbles something on her clipboard and smiles.
“Wow, you’ve got claws and you’re greedy. Shit yeah, eyes on the prize. I shouldn’t say this but watch your email. We’re done.”
You’re out of the chair. The next wannabe heads for the hot seat. No chance, loser.
Strutting like a queen, you run through names: Lyra, Allegra, Carmen. Lyra, hell yes, that’s the new you. You will own this shit, and every one of them will dream of being you.
Marco Etheridge is a writer of prose, an occasional playwright, and a part-time poet. He lives and writes in Vienna, Austria. His work has been featured in over one hundred reviews and journals across Canada, Australia, the UK, and the USA. His story “Power Tools” has been nominated for Best of the Web for 2023. “Power Tools” is Marco’s latest collection of short fiction. When he isn’t crafting stories, Marco is a contributing editor for a new ‘Zine called Hotch Potch. In his other life, Marco travels the world with his lovely wife Sabine.
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Marco - We are in tune. My claim is influencer is fake, influenza is real.