Oh When the Trolls Go Marching In
I don't care what you think. Or do I? Let's meet Fred.
**Be advised: The following piece contains some strong language that some readers may find offensive**
I might be contributing to the troll culture of the internet just by posting this image, I feel. People on Twitter have called me nasty names, and in my hurtful anger, I’ve taken to my blog, slapped the label of "troll" upon their lumpy, green, boil-covered arses, and included a picture that matches the ugly manifestation they've taken on in my mind.
"Who cares what they have to say!" I shout as I post a grotesque picture of them so they can see how much I don’t care! They are hideous, unkempt, and grizzled losers, almost subhuman in my eyes! But I cannot see an actual physical representation of this "troll," so why have I made him a him, or fat, or unkempt, or raging at their computer while their poor old mother listens to their muffled screams coming from downstairs in the basement she never dares to venture?
Why do I go straight here, first to an interpretation of your physical appearance, then to mold it into the ugliest, most bottom-tier member of society I can envision? Why would an actual physically unattractive person or perhaps socially challenged individual’s opinion be dismissed purely on the basis of how they are? I find when I am met with the "troll comments" these days, I must sit back and not only consider what they are saying, but why and where could it be coming from.
Touch grass! Get out of the basement! Ok boomer!
They think this way because they are ugly and have no life. Or they are ugly and living the wrong life. Or perhaps ugly, old, stupid, and out of touch so they don’t get my life. Could it be that simple. I don’t think it is any secret that social media has amplified our moments of brief, blinding outage up to the max and broadcast them out into the world. We boil over and react to intentionally inflammatory click bait posts/comments, staged influencer/marketing shenanigans, members of the public on video acting a damn fool. The algorithm we’re locked into poking and prodding us as best it can.
We will often consume this stream of content as we sit with our pants around our ankles, tucked away in a cubicle for five minutes of peace from the grind and chatter from the same four walls of the office. Ironically this precious, peaceful five minute time-slot snuggled into the porcelain throne is often filled up with a doom-scroll that can be full of angry, manufactured digital noise and chatter.
Meet Fred
I’d like to imagine this man on the toilet with his pants around his ankles for a moment.. Let me explain. First lets call him Fred as he is human so would likely have a name, and Fred is as fine a name as any.
Fred has spent the morning smiling and making brief anxious chat with people since arriving to work - how was your night this, and have you watched the latest episode of that. He is not exactly displeased to have to do this but oddly uneasy, anxious, like he’d rather not as he feels the pressure pushing on his brain as he searches for the “right” thing to say. The funny thing. The clever thing.
He settles into work, still uneasy, a self perceived awkward comment he made in the idle chit-chat lingers in his mind, replaying over and over as he blushes ever so slightly “why did you say that, you stupid prick” Fred asks himself. He settles into the computer, an eye and ear on everyone else around him, interacting so effortlessly.
Breezy chat and funny well timed quips and retorts, eyeing Mike the office funny guy, the confident charmer and quick witted joke merchant. You light up if Mike talks to you. Fuck you, Mike, says Fred behind a gritted smile whenever he ends up in unavoidable conversation with him. Brief, mumbled, anxious chat is all Fred can muster - you wouldn’t get me anyways Mike, and certainly wouldn’t like me if you did, he thinks.
When Fred’s computer hits 10:05am his body flushes with relief. Toilet time. An hour sitting at the desk hopping anxiously from tab to tab in-between drafting and redrafting the same email is enough time to justify a quick sit down for 5 minutes. And what a beautiful five minutes. He pats his leg to feel the outline of his phone and hops up from his desk, the anxiety and stress pours out with each step towards the door.
His phone is unlocked and in his hand quicker than his pants hit the floor, his thumb on autopilot, tapping in and out of each of his socials, quick scroll here, quick scroll there, refresh on his latest tweet - 56 have glanced over his words with not even a morsel to nourish his appetite for connection. Swiping back to his feed a single tweet catches his eye - thousands of eyeballs have scanned it, commented and liked it. That’s dumb as fuck. it’s not even funny thinks Fred as the smiling, cocky face of the avi beams up at him so so smug, think you’re great. His last few minutes of “peace and quiet” are spent mashing his screen as he drafts a reply “what are you saying, you stupid prick…” begins the feverish, rage induced reply.
Fred continues the day with a new feeling of giddy anxiety, thinking about how much he demolished his cocky, smug online adversary. Everyone will let him know how smart and funny he is as he’s showered in likes and retweets. He’ll stealthily check his phone under the desk, refreshing the notification tab, slight sting when swirling icon pops back with the screen unchanged, denying that hit he’s craving.
Fred won’t get his fix until a little later when he’s sat on the bus staring out the window on the way home. The buzz from his phone and the little blue bird popping up on the screen tear him from his many racing thoughts. No bites from the big fish just a couple from his stans, losers. One reply cuts too deep, with rage and a new sense of shame he hops onto the senders profile and begins to scroll through his tweets. He’ll need some ammunition for his second attack. It’ll be a busy night for Fred.
A million different masks
The Fred in the story is made up, stitched together with my own experiences/insecurities and observations from working in the office and moving through the online space over the years. He’s one example of a “troll” I could envision; not deeply malicious but angry, insecure and lonely. I could never really predict the thoughts and traumas of the real person behind the profile pic and handle of the dumb, mean tweet.
They could be leading an anxious, insecure life or they may be projecting due to some deeply rooted trauma that I couldn’t even begin to understand. Or they could just be really fucking bored and do it for, as we say in Ireland, the craic and crave the attention. There’s no way to know. My personal rule these days is to try not to react to anything, but if I feel I must, I try to understand that you might be presenting in anger, but are you coming in good faith? If the latter is determined to be a no, then I have nothing more to talk or be concerned about.
A billion different triggers
I would wager we have all read a tweet that made us scream “How can you not just fucking get it!?” but I’ve since taken a deep breath, turned the question inward and wondered “How does it really affect me if you don’t, and do I feel strongly enough about the real reason why it might”. Why do I need to win? Why should I need to prove you wrong? Am I fighting for the content and value of my argument, or just my ego… or am I bored and/or lonely and any chat is better than no chat at all.
If my tweet goes out into the world and the content is truly, deeply what I believe then I will stand firm behind it. And it wouldn’t be out in the world if I wasn’t certain. Am I right? Perhaps, or maybe very wrong. Certain does not equal right. I feel keeping that in mind keeps me in a heathy headspace as I ride into battle.
This tweet, with comments infused with my experience and core values, is launched into an arena with a millions and millions of squabbling voices, each with their own experiences, opinions and values screaming to be heard. I feel I must be mindful that I will collide with another who has walked a different path to me, and they will vehemently disagree, and sometimes attack.
Once I can breath and wrestle my stomping ego to the ground, I will consider your approach, determine is it cruelty or curiosity that brings you to my space and refute your points with passion and honesty, your retorts with mindfulness and consideration.
There’s no winning or loosing here in my opinion, just an honest and respectful conversation imprinted in the digital space for thousands of others to consume, digest and consider.
***
BONUS OUTRO: How about a hug for Fred
He’s not in today, let’s take the office into a meeting and discuss Fred.
It is doubtful anyone would refer to him as “a weirdo” or some variation of that. In the real world, I don’t believe people cherry-pick the same negative traits and flaws we may use to berate ourselves with. Out of the digital space and in the flesh we see actual emotive faces and little expressions of personality, ticks and quirks that may be endearing, a fully formed, flawed human.
The vast majority, I believe, aren’t looking for the worst in a person but the best and easiest way to relate to them and just get on. To understand them and feel comfortable in their company.
Fred’s appraisal would likely show him to be polite, quiet, maybe awkward but never rude or abrasive. Not a bad guy. Not someone you’d dread seeing. Although, poor old Mike has worries that Fred doesn’t like him but can’t figure out why! All in all, maybe they’d like to get to know him more or have more than a couple minutes brief chat.
With everything in mind, Fred is now offered the tape of the meeting to sit down and watch “No thanks…”. he laughs, for he knows he is approaching everyone with respect and kindness and is honest but fair and mindful in any interaction while assuming the same of those around him “…that’s none of my business.”
***