i really hate waking up early, but i love my friend, so when she asked me to speak at a morning “assembly” for her brooklyn high school students about community action during covid times, i grumbled wu-tang is for the children and agreed to set my alarm clock for the first time since isolation began. as i sleepily watched the list of attendees file into the video conference, i clicked over to the q&a box and almost laughed my entire cup of espresso out my nostrils when i read the first comment: “THIS ZOOM IS WACK.”
i’ve been booed offstage while reading poetry to high schoolers before, so someone typing THIS ZOOM IS WACK from an anonymous account doesn’t phase me – but it does impress me that the word wack continues to endure so resiliently through the decades that, here in 2020, it can be a choice adjective for a kid to describe a scenario in which a teenager is marked absent unless they log into a teleconference to watch a bunch of strangers talk. i get it. actually, if i could anonymously comment THIS ZOOM IS WACK on all my calls throughout the past month, i would. i might, from now on.
THIS ZOOM IS WACK washed over me this morning in the form of teenage nostalgia. it made me think of the years in my early twenties when my weeks were spent performing at high school assemblies all throughout the bay. standing on stage, looking out into the auditorium, i could see all the microcosms – the cliques with their leaders and tag-alongs, the ones taking the opportunity of darkness in a crowd to sleep, the teachers shushing, the honors students paying avid attention and wanting me to know it, and of course, the many in the audience who could give a fuck. regularly going to high schools was a way to keep me grounded, to not get so carried away by all the things that people in the adult world take seriously even when they really shouldn’t.
when i’m on a wack zoom call these days i choose more subtle rebellions: switching off my camera so i can roll my eyes, telling people i have to go when i actually don’t, or just straight up logging off and emailing an apology for getting disconnected. all of these are socially-acceptable expressions for people like myself who have gotten old and polite and opt for professionalism over keeping it real.
here’s a covid-era statistic i’d like to see: how many wack zoom calls have been allowed to go all the way through without anyone pointing out how wack they are? for the record, i felt that this morning’s zoom was incredible. but someone else disagreed, and they were going to make sure we all knew, damn it!
i don’t miss the drama of adolescence, but popping my head into a virtual high school today did remind me of how many other worlds are out there, each with people who are processing this moment of uniformity in vastly different ways – including at least one kid somewhere in brooklyn, who amidst social distancing and new norms, still figured out a way to step out of line.