Influ(encer)enza

The men sat around the table staring into their espressos, crema dissipating toward the demitasse horizon. When finally one spoke, the others picked up their cups to sip fastidiously as if on cue.

"Well, gentleman, we have a problem here, and we must figure out the solution before we leave this room."

No one dared to comment that, by all accounts, it was rather a self-created problem. After all, the men in this room had their hands in the rise of social media platforms; all spent arduous months plotting trends and forecasting trendsetters, delivering to screens the people, products, and catchphrases that drove the nation forward in its mass consumption. The men were barely distinguishable from one another. All were white, facing down their upper age brackets, paunch in the midsection, adamant in their rightness, and fond of ogling future talent while out for dinner and drinks with their wives.

"The case is dire, gentleman. As you are aware, the President himself has reached out to us over growing concerns that the global economy cannot withstand more people moving their jobs into the influencing sector."

An animated interruption exclaimed, "My chef quit yesterday after her video about blanching onions went viral! She was using our kitchen for Pete's sake and showed us no respect by leaving us high and dry when she knew full well that we lost Esmerelda and Melissa just last month."

The men nodded their heads in remorseful agreeance. Help was harder to find these days and all news outlets reported fewer and fewer healthcare workers and teachers by the day.

"It is becoming increasingly clear, gentleman, that we must simply nip this problem in the bud."

"I don't mean to play devil's advocate," another man retorted, "but what about the revenue we will lose from these platforms?" His gaze noticeably went to his pockets as if they housed the deals he had proffered directly.

"I, too, am concerned about that, but we are losing police officers, ambulance drivers, hell, it's hard even to get a good cup of coffee these days!"

"The fact is, gentleman, that all government incentives we have offered to bring back growth to these jobs have failed. No incentive can top millionaire status at 20 for looking good in leggings."

"Speaking of leggings, we made over 20 million last quarter from pear-shaped women squatting in Athleta's new viral do you get down with fitness promotion. We created over thirteen hundred new accounts with blonde females ages 32-40 and partnered with Erewhon to open four new locations in our Target partnership. My wife bought six pairs of those dang leggings, and I shake my head because she says I have no taste and little does she know, I'm pulling all the strings."

The men all nodded their heads in solidarity. "These stats are highly impressive, but the task at hand, gentleman, is to reduce the influencing."

"Honestly, I don't see the profitability in this. Do we need teachers? If you decide to have children, don't you deserve the onus of educating the little buggers?"

The men made off-hand nodding gestures conceding the point.

"We have control of this entire operation; we can cause a little chaos, get enough influencers to jump ship and take up some regular old jobs, get our toilets cleaned and our coffee ground, and then regrease the engine when the time is right. I've got the portfolio of our top influencing performers we can instantly get back up and running; we need a solid 50% cut. As to your profitability point, we will launch the regrowth of the healthcare industry alongside a new virus that big pharma assures us will perform quite well among our target demographics."

Lunchtime was nearing, and the men were becoming impatient.

"So what do you propose we do, gentleman?"

"Reset their passwords?"

All of the men looked up at once with bright alertness.

"Well, that certainly sounds easier than drumming up nefarious reasons to get millions of creators canceled."

"I don't mean to sound silly, gentlemen, but won't they simply, you know, create a new password?"

"Not if we create a bug across all platforms that crashes the entire thing as soon as you begin to reset your password."

"Like in Jurassic Park! Uh uh uh, you didn't say the magic word!"

The men all laughed at themselves.

"Do we have a coder that could get on this immediately? The President is expecting our proposed response promptly by 6."

"I've got calls into five of our best that can be ready at the drop of a dime."

"What do you think will happen when millions of accounts go radio silent? Are we concerned about possible retaliation?"

"Gentleman, it will be up to us, as always, to steer the course. We've got proposed distraction plans ranging from weather and disease to an intense Royal family scandal we can drop at any second. We will return to leggings as soon as we get the workforce back up and running to meet the President's economic demands."

The men nodded in acquiescence. They sipped their espressos and called their techs. One of the men, under his suit, felt the comfortable embrace of his women's leggings as they wicked the sweat from between his inner thighs.