Your final interview is with the Chief Diversity & Belonging Officer. Skipping pleasantries, xhe firmly commands you to "have a seat." Naturally, you comply.
"Is this a photo of you when you were 19?"
Xhe hands you an image of yourself posing in front of a motorcycle clad in effortless washboard abs and filled with the enviable vigor of youth. You recall sharing the image on your anonymous Twitter account in the spring of '23.
You swallow dryly. "It might be."
Xhe gives no reaction, but produces another document.
"Have you ever eaten at the Chicken Salad Shack?"
The now dead restaurant had once been across the street from your house back in the work from home days. You know what the paper will be before she hands it over. A printed copy of a tweet from 2022. You had made a joke about how the restaurant’s name looks fine but is hard to say out loud. Banger. Four likes and one retweet (from the former owner).
"It looks like this person did."
Xhe — you still haven’t learned a name — slams a binder of evidence onto the table.
“You can always withdraw your application, but this will be easier for you if you cooperate.”
Xhe opens the binder and begins flipping through dog-eared pages marked with underlines and a rainbow of highlighted colors.
You let the tension flow out of you and hang your head as you submit to the process. “Yes. This is my account.”
The officer reaches a bookmarked page and turns the binder around to face you.
“What is this, Mr. RandomSprint?”
On the paper was a meme from May 2023. It contained a battleship grid of political stances of varying extremism. “It’s a post I made. You’re supposed to circle the ones you believe.”
“At this company, we believe in creating an environment where all feel included and welcome. Why did you not highlight ‘Supports LGBTQ+ rights’?”
“Well, it’s a joke.”
“LGBTQ+ rights are a joke?” Xhe stares back at you with unblinking eyes. “I am not laughing.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” You flail around hopelessly. Maybe xhe would respect an honest opinion. “I just think that LGBTQ rights are broadly accepted at this point, and that I can’t endorse a ‘+’ without knowing to what it refers.”
Xhe licks the tip of xheir pen and prepares to take notes. “What sexual orientations would you not tolerate?”
An ancient internet instinct almost makes you say “feetophiles,” but you remember that this is a protected class in some states. You shake your head and try another approach.
“I can work with anyone. The joke is that I thought many were only sharing this to say they were rich, so I thought I’d jump to the chase. I support all gender identities.”
Xhe narrows their eyes and writes something down on a piece of paper.
“Next, let’s discuss this Substack post.”
You wonder what she could be referring to. The Paperclips story? The Self-Driving Cars story? The novel about techno monks released in 2024?
Xhe turns a page, and an icy chill runs down your spine as you see the title. “Chief Diversity and Belonging Officer.”
“No!” you scream in primal panic, dropping all pretense of professionalism. “Don’t read it! It’s too meta!”
But it’s too late. The camera has seen itself, and the world degrades into feedback. The cliche overloads the writer’s imagination, and the thought experiment evaporates without a satisfactory conclusion.
Let that be a lesson to you all, anons. Stay anonymous.
Just real enough to be incredibly traumatizing while still funny
The last paragraph is delightfully epic. Thanks Random.