Dumped, Actually(24)

Why?

Because I’ve already been through several ‘treatments’ that I’m pretty sure are banned by the Geneva Convention. My cognitive abilities have been severely impaired by all of them. I almost don’t want this waxing to be over that quickly, as I’m fairly sure the next thing on Laughlin McPurty’s list is waterboarding.



But let us return to last Tuesday, to discover why I find myself in the position of a man about to become far less hirsute.

It turns out I wasn’t entirely correct about how much of a response I’d get to ‘Dumped Actually’. I may have underestimated things just a tad.

It hasn’t been read by tens of thousands of people – it’s been read by two hundred and fifty thousand. And I haven’t received hundreds of responses. I’ve received thousands.

Most have been just well-wishers. A few have been people taking the piss, because that’s how the world works.

But I’ve also had dozens and dozens of emails from people keen to tell me about their stories of heartbreak, and how they managed to move on with their lives.

It’s been quite incredible.

The last time I remember anything taking off online like this was that ‘Dry Hard’ thing last year. That went viral in a matter of days. I ended up interviewing the Temple family for Actual Life. They seemed nice, if a little bewildered by the whole experience.

It took a little longer for ‘Dumped Actually’ to gather any pace. For the first week or so, it was bumping along quite nicely, the way I thought it would. It certainly got a lot of clicks, but nothing that out of the ordinary for one of Actual Life’s more popular stories.

But then, inexplicably, after about a fortnight, it started to gather steam.

There’s some weird alchemy to the way social media and the internet work that I don’t for the life of me understand. One minute something can be just another feature in a sea of billions, and the next it can blow up – for no discernible reason.

Erica thinks it’s because what I’ve written is a fantastic piece of work, but I’m sure there’s something weirder and less tangible going on that none of us truly understand. There are probably scientists somewhere, dedicated to trying to make head or tail of it. Possibly underground at Facebook, where a picture of Mark Zuckerberg hangs so they can all pray to it in the morning.

By the time another two weeks had gone by, ‘Dumped Actually’ had been read and shared more than any other feature in Actual Life’s entire seven-year history.

I had to stop looking at the website’s statistics, because it was starting to give me vertigo.

I also had to stop googling my name. It’s fun to start with, don’t get me wrong. The thrill of seeing lots and lots of hits appear is quite incredible. But after a while it starts to become ever so embarrassing.

I poured my heart out to the world in that story. I didn’t think it would be read by quite so many people. If I had, I would have never got past the first paragraph.

I have become something of a minor, and no doubt temporary, celebrity in cyberspace – all because I can’t hold down a bloody relationship.

Some people get to be famous online because they climb a mountain, or record a song about a kitten riding on a miniature golf cart. I get to be well known for being a complete and total loser.

Oh joy.

But, I have to confess, a part of me was very happy to see ‘Dumped Actually’ do so well. The part of me that has to worry about the rent and electricity bills, mostly. Also, I have some professional pride as a writer and journalist, so to see something take off in such a fashion was a great boost to my cratering sense of self-worth.

Towering embarrassment and abstract pride are a strange combination, I have to tell you. It’s like being nervous and on edge, while at the same time feeling relaxed and easy-going.

I’ve been taking a lot of ibuprofen the last few days.

I had imagined that I would be doing a follow-up feature to ‘Dumped Actually’ about all the feedback I’d received. A nice easy piece, highlighting the best of the responses, and my feelings about them.

Erica had other ideas.

‘You’ve got to try them!’ she tells me, over another cup of bean-to-cup coffee.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’ve got to do them, Ollie! The ideas they’ve suggested. That’s the best way to keep the whole thing going.’

‘But . . . But I was just going to do a follow-up article about them.’

Erica waves her hand dismissively. ‘Boring! That won’t hold people’s attention for long, I can tell you that. But if you actually give their ideas a go . . . Now that could be something we could keep going for months!’

‘Months?’

‘Yeah! Months and months!’

‘Oh God.’

‘Oh, come on, it’s not like it’ll be a new thing for you. You always go and do research for your stories.’

‘Yeah . . . but going to a bar to drink a mocktail is not like camping for a month in Scotland, or getting an unwanted – and probably permanent – makeover!’

Erica smiles broadly. ‘It’ll be fine, Ollie! Trust me!’

‘But . . . I . . . But . . . I can’t . . . I don’t . . .’

Oh bugger.

Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger.