Cancelled

CANCELLED

    You’ve probably heard the phrase “cancel culture” being thrown around lately. Do you know what it means? It’s like… A new age form of ostracism. If someone does or says something, usually something insensitive or just that people don’t like, they “cancel” them by doing things like calling them out or blocking them on social media, ignoring them in real life if they know them, just generally telling them off and calling on others to do the same. The real cancelling is happening mostly to well-known people like celebrities, politicians, or CEOs. However, it’s become such a popular phenomenon that people are starting to do it to others, too, like friends and family members, teachers and bosses. They’re also starting to play around with the word, teasing friends by threatening to cancel them as a joke. And that’s… what happened to me.

    I’m kind of an asshole to my friends, and by that I mean I joke around a lot and play disliked roles. I dunno, it’s just my sense of humor! I’ll just pick up some stereotypical accent and pretend to be an extreme version of that caricature. A Russian communist, an angry Asian parent, a far-right ultraconservative, a bleeding-heart hippie, etc. Many of you probably have a friend like me, it’s fairly common, I think; Walking the line of morality as a joke. Some people can find that kind of thing offensive, and understandably, but it’s all in good fun…

    So, I was set to meet up with some friends one Saturday afternoon, the usual weekly hangout to catch up, blow off some steam, chat about work and family. We were on our way to get lunch at our favorite bodega, our little waterfront town’s iconic “Joe’s Deli.” We’re not exactly a culinary hub here, okay?

I joined up with them outside my crummy two-family house and we started walking. A few minutes into our walk, I maaay have gotten a bit heated talking about my boss. He had been driving us pretty hard lately. I work in the back at a big department store, mostly loading and unloading trucks, sorting stuff, moving boxes around. I even get to drive the forklift! …It’s not as exciting as you might think.

Our boss is black man, big and burly, kind of intimidating. More big than burly, but you can tell he’s got some serious muscle under there. Years of working on a loading dock will do that to you. 

The holiday season was coming, so we had been getting a big rush of cargo for the past two weeks, and to top that off we had just lost two employees, one for maternity leave and one because… Well, he got walked out by the police. Overall, it was a stressful time at the store, and it was taking a toll on everyone.

One of the other guys and I were tossing this one box back and forth, just for a minute, for a little fun, and The Big Man In The Back, as we call him, Jershon, caught us. Now, usually Jershon is an alright manager. He’s understanding and somewhat lenient, but he does have a job to do. If he catches us messing around, he won’t hesitate to tell us to get back to work, but he won’t jump down our throats or report us, either. This time, however, he blew up. 

“Will you f***ing morons put the damn box down?! We have a whole other shipment about to come and we gotta get this truck outta the way!” We were so shocked by his extraordinary outburst that we both just kinda stood there, staring, until he barked, “MOVE IT! F***in’ useless…” and he stormed away.

We leapt right back to work, of course. I know we had a lot going on at work, and he might have been having trouble with whatever else, but that stung and stayed with me, a dark burr on my mind. Finally getting the chance to vent to my friends about it was cathartic, and to round it out with some comedy, as one does, I added in, “man, someone get that boi some friiied chicken,” in my best black southern accent.

I know, I KNOW! That was insensitive, stupid, not even funny, stereotyping, straight-up racism. Believe me when I say that I know, and I regret it. What happened next made sure of that.

My group of friends were all laughing along at me, the kind of laughter that one produces when you hear something off-color. It’s a combination of the shock factor and obligation because the person is a friend that made them laugh. I’d gotten used to picking out that kind of laughter, just as they’d gotten used to me being like that. As she was laughing, one of them, Alli, said, “dude, you are so f***ing cancelled!”

The laughing subsided and we all continued walking along, moving on to other topics. James, an engineer, was telling us about a project he and his team were working on. Even simplifying it a bit for us laymen, I didn’t really understand what this one piece of machinery was supposed to do, so I asked him to clarify… But he didn’t answer. At first I thought maybe I mumbled and he didn’t hear me, but when I repeated the question louder and more clearly, he completely ignored me. He even started talking over me as I was asking him the second time. I was a bit caught off-guard, but I figured maybe he just wanted to get through the explanation, or what I asked was going to be answered next or something, so I let it go and kept listening.

He didn’t answer my question. He finished what he was talking about to a chorus of “uhuh’s” and nods, and then Eric brought up something similar that was going on at his job, and the conversation kept rolling. When I chimed in while Alli was going on about a coworker, she ignored me, too.

This was getting weird, so I stepped out in front of the group and walked ahead of them, trying to get their attention. “Guys? Helloooo?” I started waving my arms to indicate that I wanted them to acknowledge me. They didn’t.

I stopped with my arms out to the sides a few steps ahead, but they showed no signs of stopping, so I jumped out of the way. I felt something like a… psychic twinge as they passed me, so I turned around to look. That’s when I saw it. My olive green coat? My shoulder-length hair? Who… Is that Me?

I myself was walking alongside them, in the back. Same position I was in before… But now that “me” was walking away. He didn’t pay me any mind.

I took a step toward him, but my attention was abruptly pulled up to the rapidly greying sky. Rain? There was no rain in the forecast, I had just checked specifically for that, like ten minutes prior. When I looked back down, I was surprised to see how far my friends had gotten. They were all the way at the edge of my vision. When had it gotten so dark?? They were still walking, but I couldn’t make out any features or details. I called out to them and started running. 

For a long time I ran after them, even as they blended into the shadows far ahead of me, disappearing from my view. I wasn’t out of breath yet, so I ran harder, calling out again. The darkness seemed to swallow up my voice before it got anywhere, along with all the color and definition in the world. Where there had been a line of multifamily houses to my right, there were now just vague, looming shapes. I passed under what I thought were trees, now just menacing, spindly figures, reaching down for me with crooked limbs. The street to my left disappeared, and more undefined shapes closed in. I felt small, like a child surrounded by adults leaning over me, examining me.

I felt… Shame. Like I never had before. It was all around me, pointing at me, condemning me. It burned, laid into me, into my flesh. It was shame incarnate, and I could feel it’s millions of claws digging into me. Each and every one added a new pain, and never overwrote the old. I was caught in its clutches.

As I started to dissociate, somehow pushing the pain into the background, I was able to think. “How could I feel this much pain? This is impossible,” I thought. Then I paid the price of escaping even for a moment. A flame ignited underneath me, another spear of pain entered my consciousness.

Again, I broke out and had a thought. “I’m in Hell. This is always how I imagined Hell. Unbearable, constant pain that you can’t shut out or grow accustomed to. I told one too many stupid jokes and went straight to Hell.” Another flame, another lance. My face grew hot, the way it does when you find yourself embarrassed, but this was so hot that it hurt. A crawling, itching pain beneath my skin. No, I knew I was wrong.

Yet I did it again. I raged against my imprisonment. I broke free once more. “This isn’t fair!! It was just a joke!” Another spear pierced my heart. I was wrong, and this entity was about to show me how wrong. Flames danced beneath me now, licking my skin. Tears stung my eyes, knowing that this was only going to get worse.

Panic arose. I started stealing around, struggling. Everywhere my eyes looked there was nothing. Just vague shapes drifting lazily in the black, and the colorless flames trying to latch onto my body. “Please, stop! Make this stop! What can I do?? Tell me, tell me what to do!! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please let me out!”

…But the only response was the searing pain crawling up my legs as the flames grew. They grew and grew, engulfing me. The pain was immense. I screamed. I screamed and screamed. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing to look at. Nothing to think about. There was nothing left to say. I was there to burn.

Eventually I stopped screaming. It didn’t hurt any less, I just… Knew. I was there to burn. If I’d had any eyes I might have cried. But all of that was gone. All there was in this existence for me was the fire.

And then, after burning there for what felt like years… Something hit my forehead. Something small, and cold. A sensation I might have remembered from long ago. Then another, and another.The sound of a roaring fire was doing battle against something similar, but definitely different. A rushing, sweeping, dull sound. It was raining.

Before long, the cool water was dousing me. It washed over the cracked and blackened skin that remained like a loving, healing touch. Like… I dunno, like milk? Or aloe? It hurt as it seeped into the cracks, for a brief moment the pain reached new heights, but this time I knew it would get better. As it started to abate, the sound of the rain was replacing the sound of fire. The screaming in my mind came into focus. Maybe I never did stop screaming, but clarity was surging through me now, and I was able to rein it in. Sweet relief flooded my being, and I threw my head back and let the rain continue its work. 

Tears finally escaped from my repaired eyes, a great flood of anguish leaving my body. The rain was torrential, and I could not distinguish the rain on my face from the tears. It all mixed together and vanished, and as the mental noise from my own torment quieted, I could hear other sounds. Other voices.

What I thought was the sound of rain all around me took shape and made words. They were chaotic, but once I could start to distinguish them, I was able to make sense of them. The voices were telling stories. Millions of stories. One called out to me.

A short, overweight black boy in a schoolyard. He has no friends. He sits by himself on a bench and idly watches the other children play. He smiles as he tells himself a story of friendship, then he frowns when he remembers that it was imagined. Behind his eyes, a great sadness lurks. Tears spring anew from my eyes as his feelings rush into me. 

Now he’s a man, working as a manager in a department store. His coworkers ignore him, even though he does his best. He had a girlfriend, but it didn’t work out. He sits in an apartment by himself, and cries himself to sleep. I cry with him.

I reach out and catch a raindrop on my hand. A girl is a barista at a coffee shop. I see a fragment of an argument with a customer who called her a “dyke”. Later, she defends her actions to her manager. She is given a disciplinary action. This is her second “offense”. She tells her mother what happened and she responds that perhaps she should have gotten a better job, and dressed more lady-like.

I see an older woman. She is restocking the utensils section of the home department. She is thinking back to her “prime” years, when she was an amateur MMA fighter. She did well in her small hometown, even made it to a national competition. She was soundly defeated in her first fight. The woman who was her opponent, jeering at her, told her to “go back to the kitchen.” So she did.

I see a boy in high school. He’s been applying for colleges. He is confident. He has worked hard and done well. Somewhere in an office building, an administrator looks over his application for financial aid. She runs a background check, but denies his application before it is done. She’s seen it all before. Meanwhile, another office clerk approves him. He is a Native American, after all. He is pleased. It’s not a full ride, but it’s something.

Raid drop after rain drop, story after story, I catch them and listen. I cry and cry and cry. I wade through waist-deep water and tears. It is unending. It hurts so much, sometimes I long for the fire. But I know I must feel it all. I want to feel it all. The fire was my duty, but this is my desire. Not to merely endure it, but to feel it and welcome it into myself.

I walked through the rain, head back and arms spread wide for days, weeks, months, years? Who knows. I listened to as many of their stories as I could, yet still more I floated past in the eddies. These were some of the more tame ones that I heard. Then I was drowning. I didn’t fight it. Quite the contrary, I welcomed it. Just another new test this place had for me. 

When the water went over my face I didn’t even hold my breath. With a sigh I let it in, pulled it down into my lungs… And they seared with a pain so shocking that my eyes flew open. I was drowning! My limbs jumped into action, flailing around in the water. I looked wildly in every direction, trying to orient myself.

And then I found myself looking down into an abyss… In that moment, I beheld the depth to which the water had grown. I stared down into the fathoms, completely stunned by the sheer vastness of the ocean of tears and tales around me. It only lasted a second, but the fear I felt right then was unlike anything I could imagine existing in our world.

The fear and pain created a cocktail of terror as I started thrashing again, even harder than before. I tore my sheets off of my person and flung them onto the floor. My arm flung the pillow across the room and then hit the wall hard. I looked around wildly at the unfamiliar surroundings and tried to scramble away from them, which just led to me crashing down onto the floor. I was hyperventilating and coughing up air, sputtering and spitting for survival…

I don’t remember much of the panic that ensued. From the trail of destruction that I left I can surmise that I crawled to the bathroom, drank way too much water from the sink too fast, threw it all up half in the sink and half on the floor, then drank more. Then I crawled out of there, maybe tried to go under the hallway table since it was on its side and one of the legs was broken. Then I seemed to have headed to the door, which was smeared with a couple handprints, ineffectually reaching up for the knob. I assume I passed out at that point because that’s where I woke up.

I spent several days at home, shivering and having no appetite. It did start to come back though. I called my work to apologize for not showing up. Jershon answered and I immediately started sobbing at the sound of his voice. He probably thought I was having some kind of mental breakdown. He was trying to calm me down, telling me that it was alright and everything would be fine, but that just made me cry harder. I eventually spat out my apology and that I’d call when I could come back to work. He told me to take my time.

I called up each of my friends when I was confident enough to speak on the phone again. I asked them what had happened that day, though I didn’t say a word about what I went through. Apparently, to them everything was completely normal. I talked, ate, and went home. What the f*** happened to me? Some kind of retribution… Maybe I finally angered some deity of bigotry, or maybe I pissed off the wrong person and they put a curse on me. Your guess is as good as mine.

Whatever that experience was, I think it’s safe to say that I learned my lesson. I couldn’t remember my awful impressions if I tried, and I sure as hell won’t be trying. If your sense of humor is anything like mine was, please learn from my mistakes. You DON’T want to go through what I did. Keep those thoughts inside your head, or at least tone them down. Or better yet? Just fucking stop.