On the morning of March 17th 2007, I sat at work doing what has become part of my after lunch routine. I surfed Digg, to learn the news, events, and concerns of the public. The democracy of Digg creates an interesting environment to show you what is important in the eyes of the people; the treasure hunt aspect of Digg creates this wild world full of things you didn't even know were on the Internet. A giant scavenger hunt of ideas, stories, blogs, and everything.
This morning was different. We didn't get any stories of Wii Sports: Bowling Robots, or essays on Why I love RPG Towns. No, today tucked away in the corner of the Upcoming Stories section, I spot this headline: American Girl Place store employee humiliates 6 year old girl. Intrigued, I ponder about what this click could contain. I mean, who humiliates a six year old girl? Just, who does that? What kind of empty depraved human takes time out of their day to bring down a six year old? Also, what the hell is an American Girl Place? We don't have these high society things in Iowa. Full of questions, I tunnel down the rabbit hole.
Through the magics that only the Internets and the written word are able to wield, I am lifted from my office chair and taken to this place run by a lady going by the ironic pseudonym of "
Etta's mom goes on to tell the story of her daughter Etta, and her quest to be one of the awesome popular kids. We've all been there right? My generation had their GI Joes vs. generic Dollar General "Army Guys". Transformers vs. GoBots for the kids who were down on the fighting robots tip. Even the girls had their constant warfare against generic Barbie usurpers. If your family couldn't afford toys there was always the Wonder Bread vs. Plain Nondescript Bulk White Label Bread. So at the base level, I could directly relate to what she was talking about, but her mom took it deeper. She pushed further through the day, recanting how her little daughter was remorselessly emotionally eviscerated in public by children her own age, the mother's of these godless heathens, and even the employees of the store; the reason? She didn't have an authentic, stamped, certified, original, unique, branded, commercial American Girl Place Doll. No, she had her own doll, one she loved with all her heart because she had bought the doll with her own money that she had saved. Twenty whole dollars. Hell I'm an adult who finds it hard to keep President Jackson towing the line, and she saved it up for her own doll! But no, not good enough for those heralding the banner down at the American Girl Place, a place that sells "memories that last a lifetime."
Her literary style, her meter and composure, not just what she had to say but the way in which she so passionately said it transcended this from merely being a write up on an event to a painful literary reenactment. I wasn't just reading about what happened, I could feel it at every turn. I sat brokenhearted in my chair as I read about transgressions of my fellow man at the sake of an innocent little girl, all for idolism of a hollow piece of plastic. Itself an icon for a beauty industry run amok, programming our children on the wide range of the color spectrum, and how that relates to your toenails. The direct scientific correlation between seasons, national holidays, and shades from a fashion standpoint. You know, important stuff.
Not to cut down Etta even more, and even suggest for a minute that her want to belong and be popular was shallow. Not in the least. In my day it was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures, had to have them all. I'll admit it man, I was a pizza slinging sucker for those four radical green dudes with attitude. I'm no hypocrite. I pleaded with my mom, please, I need the Ninja Turtles, I somehow will not continue to survive on this planet without them. I know how such silly sounding requisitions for toy box reconnaissance must wear down on the parent, because you want everything in the world for them to be right and perfect. This much is obvious through her mom's blog, she loves her child so very deeply that my own attempts at poetic prose or metaphor would simply do her injustice. It is this love that makes her story so gut wrenching. I was near tears and so angry not just that people like those exist in this world; those that would publicly shame a child in this pseudo-caste system we're working on here in America. But the fact that these people were unwittingly raising another generation of shallow, heartless machine children.
Sadly, Mom's post did not make the front page of Digg. The hallowed ground of victory where upon arrival, the world is opened up to your piece of the world. It was lost in obscurity. Now who will save us? Who will step forward, and take the charge! I ask you, who among you men will rise above and lead the charge against this corporate monster! He must be stopped! We must make a stand! For Etta!
Enter the Consumerist.
In this world of Corporate Fiefdom where we play the peasants consuming from the hand of the tyrannical CEO Kings, the Consumerist is viewed by many as our own Robin Hood. They uncover the dirt! They expose those corporate machines and raise awareness! They keep you in the know for what is really going on. Chiefly, though, they profit from tragedy.
They do what?
I said they profit from tragedy.
Hell, don't take my word for it, ask them yourselves. Right there in plain English on their FAQ:
4. What kind of biases should we expect from you?
We're biased towards the consumer. We favor bad company stories over happy customer tales.
From the horse's own mouth. They are ambulance chasers. They are vultures. Sadness sells, and nobody wants to read stories about heroes and victory. We only want pain and suffering down at Consumerist. The more tragic the better, anything to pull on your heartstrings and keep you coming back for the followup that probably is never going to be followed up on.
One thousand diggs later, one front page later, and seventy-seven thousand hits in the Consumerist's web log later, Etta's story is world famous; The Consumerist, our hero. God how would we have survived if the Consumerist had not have latched on to this story with their fangs?
What did you even do when you wrote this post? I'll tell you what you did, you woke up in a haze, you had some coffee and you thought, "Man, nothing terrible is happening today! What will we do! We've got to keep making the corporate world look like whores so we can keep our fan base happy!" That's when you checked your mail, and got the tip from a loyal sheep about the calamity and racism the generic doll was facing in uptown New York. You read her post, but instead of being heartbroken, you were like some kind of Grinch on Clearance. Your heart grew three sizes that day as you fantasized about all the traffic this would bring in. It was like a Perfect Storm, a six year old girl discriminated and humiliated in public because she couldn't afford a high society doll? It must have been like some kind of wet dream for you.
But there was still work to be done, right? You followed those leads, and you called the American Girl Place to-- you didn't make any phone calls? Well you at least tried to get ahold of Etta's Mom and try to set things right with her, let her know there were some descent people left in this wor-- oh you didn't contact any body? Did you mobilize your million visitors a week to action to try and institute some kind of change at the Ameri-- you didn't do that either? Well, you at least provided some insightful and thoughtful commentary, taking American Girl Place to task for-- what do you mean you only wrote two pieced together paragraphs over some wholesale quotes from her blog? With such sincere commentary highlights like, "We feel really, really bad for this little girl. ... This makes us feel terrible. Really terrible." Really? Did it really make you feel really terrible about that really horrible thing that really happened? Really? For reals? How bad did you feel? Did you feel {-----this-----} bad with arms stretched out and everything? Aw man. Here is a tip for you: Thesaurus? Not a dinosaur. They're books full of words you can use, you should open one up some time.
You. Make. Me. Sick. You know what they call that? They call it blogspam. Sometimes they call it "splog" when they're trying to sound trendy and buzzwordy. Whatever crown you want to wear, you Consumerist are their poster child. You are nobody's hero, you exist only to prey upon those who have already been chewed up by the machine. You exploit their tales for your financial gain, and they get nothing. No reward. No pat on the back. Most of the time the situation doesn't even change; American Girl Place is still a haven for discrimination with no remorse or apology. It has been five whole months to the day since that went down, did you try to follow up to see how everybody is do-- no, of course you couldn't put effort into that either. You've long since found a new song to sing, a new story to prostitute.
Because that is what you did, you realize this? You further raped the dignity of a six year old girl, but you guys did it from the angle that you're one of the Good Guys™. You're wearing a white hat, so it's all cool everybody.
But Bitterman, stop being so hard on them! They're just trying to make a living! Web sites cost money to run, you know!
Don't you tell me how web sites cost money to run. When you're running a blog dedicated to being an independent voice to critique this age of a renewed crisis of the commons where companies use intimidation tactics to silence criticism, you don't turn around and make your scratch off the people you're trying to protect. That's borderline extortion, and at the very least no better than the Corporate America you're trying to distance yourself from. If you want to do your Man of the People deeds, you get a god damn job and shoulder some weight on behalf of your public. If you're going to bear the cross, then do it. Don't pose with the cross for photo ops at $20 a pop and pretend you're a martyr.
Oh! But wait! That's it, that's the big key! Consumerist is your job! It is what you are paid to do! Because you're just a cog in a bigger machine, called Gawker Media. Even the name of your parent company suggests that you're the kind of people who slow down for bloody car accidents, but not out of common courtesy to the Emergency Response Crew. No, you're feathering your brake pedal because you're hoping to witness some human carnage without leaving your seat. Some kind of depraved Disneyland ride where the children are all on fire and you can't get enough of it.
You follow the spider's web, and realize that we have again failed ourselves as a people. We have yet again allowed a controlled source to dictate who and where we get our information from. In this limitless internet of possibility, we have again become slaves to single checkpoints for knowledge. Lifehacker, Kotaku, Gizmodo, Wonkette, and the Consumerist, among others controlled and owned by Gawker. They're the new Twentieth Century Fox, Fox News, DirecTV, National Geographic Channel, The Sun, and The New York Post from the portfolio of NewsCorp. Only for a digital age, for a blogging age; gosh that is so Web 2.0. The man behind the curtain is no wizard, he's a hydra.
Etta's mom, I'm sorry that I had to use you as a platform for my disgust against the Consumerist. I am sorry that I have once again drug your child's emotional torture through the dirt, with my own ulterior motive. I want you to know you have my deepest apologies for what has happened to your daughter. But don't despair, because your story has also given me confidence. Confidence that there are still parents out there who care for their children, parents out there who are giving their children every opportunity to succeed and teaching them right from wrong. Parents who are taking the time to give their children the basic tools they need to make it in this life. Etta's mom, you're one of those parents. I have the utmost faith that your daughter will grow into a beautiful, intelligent woman. She'll be a fighter, she will set right these wrongs so no one else has to be put through them. Bless you, Etta's mom. Keep your head up.
Also. Consumerist. Stop referring to yourself in third person when you refer to yourself in posts. You are not Dewayne "The Rock" Johnson. You don't get that right.
Not yours.
Quite the archetypal story
Quite the archetypal story really, not to denigrate, it could almost be fictional except I think I can safely say that all of us have experienced the desire for something and partaken in the ridicule of those who don't follow in your footsteps.
Perhaps that's too judgemental. Never mind. Keep on slogging Bitterman.
Value and Worth...
It is a bit sad that we are in a society that seemingly geared towards judging a person's worth solely on monetary means, as if if they somehow had/made such money they must have some good qualities to them that allowed them to do so. I am frankly far more impressed that a child of six saved up twenty dollars to buy a doll herself rather then any name brand doll she made her mother get her.
One day I suppose most people will begin to realize that owning everything won't bring any true value to their life. It's the effort you put into your life that brings value, It's the act of saving money for a doll that gives the doll true worth, not any price tag or name brand that screams only with this will you have something of worth.
- Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread.