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It will happen. You, too, will go viral. Even though you think your Zoom meetings are so dull that nothing interesting could occur in them, one day it will.
The viral glory could come in the “Q3 Strategy Update with Simone — She’s rescheduled AGAIN†or the “Catch-Up with Finance (Ahmed, do we *have* to invite Anne?)†or even the “Emergency Trustees Meeting: Urinal Refurb Brainstormâ€. Calendar invites never warn of impending fame, so you must always be prepared.
Some home truths. You will not appear with a cat filter. That would be too adorable. Your clip is more likely to feature your head being replaced by a vomiting seagull, who is then dismembered by a fox. Practise saying this line: “I’m here live. I’m not a vomiting seagull being savaged by a fox.â€
Or your 15 seconds of fame may feature your kids bursting into your home office. Imagine them waddling cutely towards your desk. Now forget this image, because these are your kids we’re talking about, not Professor Robert E. Kelly’s.
Your daughter will describe you as a “terrible parentâ€, while your young son will explain exactly how he has redecorated the downstairs toilet. Both comments will be audible to viewers from London to La Paz. You’ll be tempted to say you have never seen these kids before but be assured: this won’t look good on the internet.
As you mentally prepare for algorithmic acclaim, you will picture yourself in the blue top that your ex said makes you look at least five years younger. Alas, given your current laundry habits, you will be wearing the mauve shirt that you pretend to keep only for gardening. Send that mauve horror show to the recycling now.
You hope internet immortality will capture you at your authoritative best — like the time you wowed the 18.23 train from Waterloo by telling a stranger that, unless he’d paid for two seats, he should move his right buttock.
In other words, you want to be Jackie Weaver. In fact, you will be Aled’s iPad — the rude villain of the infamous council meeting. Adding salt to the wound, your friends will say that the encounter was “so youâ€. There is nothing you can do about this.
You will make one witty remark, but it will come when your video is shaky so will not be included in the brief clip played on BBC News at Ten. When you publish the fuller excerpt on your Instagram, it will languish with three likes and two shares. Upgrade your Wi-Fi now.
If you are involved in this year’s climate summit in Glasgow, your viral fame will occur in a six-hour meeting, when you sense both the US and China may finally make compromises if serious public pressure is applied. Your clip will dominate media coverage, dissipate international momentum and accelerate the end of the world. Your life’s work will be ruined but at least you will have gone viral.
If you are raising money for charity, like Captain Tom, virality will have downsides. These include Russian hackers spotting your internet banking password in the reflection of a picture behind you. There will be seven payments to an upmarket Uzbek jeweller before Santander freezes your account. Remove the banking password now.
Your notoriety is noticed by everyone you’ve ever met, including a Cotswolds bed and breakfast owner who recognises you as the person who once crashed into her greenhouse, killing her beloved tortoise. Do your reputation a favour and make amends before you hit the big time.
That aside, your viral clip changes nothing in your life. Your post still arrives late, your washing up still needs doing and there is still a six-week wait for a decent plumber. Remember: it could have been worse: you could have been on mute.
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