On the way home, I tried a grocery store, a clothing store, and a gas station.
No luck.
Then I went to get my laptop because I had many more job applications to go. Before I journeyed to the soul-sucking sites for job hunters, I checked my videos.
My original video’s views had leveled off, but they were still coming in. I’d taken the sound off my karaoke video and put it back up, interspersing titles as if it were a silent movie. The video about Parker?
Almost four million views.
Odd, since it was just a couple of pictures and me talking, but who the hell knew what would ever take off on the internet? And Parker was very nice to look at, even if the picture only showed his chest and arms.
A quick glance at the comments told me that several women were enamored of my neighbor. They really were using #MrAlways to talk about him, and some of them were suggesting things that were downright lewd.
You should take it down.
A quick glance at my AdSense account suggested otherwise. These were the views and shares that I needed to get more advertising revenue.
The damage has already been done, hasn’t it?
In the end, I left the video up, but I didn’t feel great about it—especially not when I saw another comment from OneBadMother49:Stop this insanity, Vivian, or you will regret it.
Was this a threat? Or a statement? If Mitch was behind this account, why would he care about Parker?
Unless Parker was OneBadMother49.
No, it couldn’t be Parker because he had barely known who I was when I’d made the first video. And there wasn’t an ominous “or else.” It had to be Mitch messing with me. Not that I’d give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d crawled under my skin.
But that didn’t feel right, either. It had to be a random troll. The internet was chock-full of those.
I turned my attention to an article proclaiming my chicken salad meme had just made a “Best Memes” list on some website. Too bad I couldn’t get a nickel every time someone shared it.
Next, I went through my email, a formidable exercise these days. I had all sorts of questions to answer for the Busy Mom Cosmetics people, but maybe it would do me good to get a new look, and I was looking forward to sharing the experience with Abi and Rachel.
Yeah, well Mom wanted to go, too.
I toyed with asking the lady if she minded if we added one more, but this was a contest with a really expensive prize, and I’d simply been in the right place at the right time with an assist from Dylan. We each got only those fifteen minutes of fame, right? Especially if we were middle-aged housewives from suburban Georgia.
Most of my email was spam or the kind of influencer email that wanted me to wear something or do something, but there was one email that caught my eye.
Ms. Quackenbush,
Vine Friends is a young company seeking to pair wine drinkers with winemakers. We’re looking for influencers to help us branch out into new markets, and based on your social media presence, we think you would be a good fit. We were wondering if you would like to join us in Napa, California, for a small presentation. All expenses paid ...
The email continued, but I stopped right there because I would dearly love to visit Napa. Rachel had been waxing rhapsodic about the place for years, and I already knew I was a fan of the wines of the region.
I could wish these opportunities for exposure were cash in my pocket instead of “all expenses paid,” but then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. I dedicated a good hour to looking up the wine company and seeing if they were legitimate.
Like Busy Mom Cosmetics, they appeared to be.
Maybe as long as I didn’t have to give them a credit card number or my driver’s license?
I answered yes.
I would, in fact, love to attend.
But first? New York.
Chapter 26
