WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?
A Short Story About the Commodification of Trauma
The woman found the ad while searching online for a new job. (Or a new passion or a new purpose. Whatever she found first.) The information was just vague enough to be intriguing. She was someone who wanted to make a difference. She was someone who had been through hard things. And she had a basic understanding of how to use the graphic deign app, Canva. Maybe this unclear opportunity was exactly what she had been looking for!
After clicking the link and filling out the introductory form she closed her laptop and went to bed. Where she reengaged with the internet on her phone, but from a different, horizontal angle that felt more relaxing. Until her scrolling brought her yet another video of a beloved pet that would die if she didn’t engage and donate. Even her mindless activities brought flashes of deep sadness now, but such was the way of the algorithm. For every three silly videos came a reminder of suffering. Luckily, her thumb had grown fast and her brain worked hard to compartmentalize.
Two days later, the woman found herself in a sterile waiting room, deeply craving something she still didn’t understand. A recruiter had called the night before, offered no more insight into the position, and requested her presence as soon as possible to see if she was the right “fit.” As someone who felt like she never properly fit in anywhere, the woman bit her tongue and prayed this time it would be different. She had spent the morning trying to select the best outfit from a sea of nearly identical black clothing. She wasn’t sure that she had picked right.
“Next,” A young man who could be anywhere from 22 to 43 announced into the otherwise empty room. He was wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit with a fashionably ripped t-shirt underneath that appeared to promote a band she had never heard of. The woman looked around to make sure no one else was hiding under the white folding chairs before timidly raising her hand.
“I think that’s me.”
The man led her into the room he had just exited and she was greeted with a warm smile. An older woman with bright red lipstick and clear eye for timeless fashion was seated on a plush armchair. Across from her sat another, empty one. There was nothing else in the room and the woman wondered if during the time she had been waiting the older woman and blue-suited man had just been sitting in here staring at each other. Or maybe they had been attending to important business while making direct eye contact.
“Thanks so much for coming in. I’m Cheryl. Please, take a seat.” Cheryl gestured to the open armchair as the woman heard the door close shut behind her. The man had left—ostensibly to go sit in a chair somewhere else.
The woman settled in silently, unclear what to say. A variety of pleasantries vied to come out, but she pushed them back down her throat. She needed to know what this woman, what this Cheryl, was looking for before she could become that. Cheryl leaned forward with interest.
“What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you?”