Short Story: Do it For the Likes

Imagine a dystopian future driven by social media engagement and unreliable trains

Disgusting Subway train

Thanks for being a subscriber to Let's Not Be Trash. Normally I write essays commenting on masculinity, pop culture, or whatever comes to mind. But after reading a few of NJ amazing short stories, I got inspired and decided to write one of my own.

I wrote this very short story while imagining a world where the U.S. government Collapses and is run by corporations. In this world, people make a living as content creators who get paid in “likes” and “engagement” I would love your feedback, even if you hate it. But… if you do hate it, at least call me pretty or something before you tell me why. That will help to soften the blow. If you enjoyed this, let me know and I’ll try to do more, but no pressure. I’m just taking the inspiration I feel from the amazing writing community on Substack and using it to stretch myself creatively. Ok, enough rambling, let’s get to it.

The Tok train was late today. At first, Eric didn’t think anything of it. The MTA was always an adventure this early in the morning. Some days it pulled into the station right on time, and on days like this there would be some phantom “service interruption.” The conductor usually blames it on a “signal disruption” but everyone knew that was B.S. “signal whatever’s” were code for the trains being old and too shitty to keep working. The subway system hasn’t been the same since Temu bought it from the city. Sure, the base fare was lower, but the schedule was shit, and your phone was constantly buzzing with notifications for“flash sales” on transit chips.

There’s a system to hold Temu accountable, but no one ever wants to do their job. If pressed, Admin Daniels will probably blame his inaction on Inspector Harris, and the refugees coming in from Brooklyn. Inspector Harris will either refuse to respond or throw the blame back at Admin Daniels and the refugees, no matter what the issue, it’s always the refugee’s fault.

Eric shifted the weight in his book bag to relieve some of the pain he was feeling in his right shoulder. He was on his way to an interview, and if things went well, everything would change. The train platform was sparsely populated, humid, and brightly lit, he could hear the next closest person to his right going through their routine, she was a “fitness influencer” showing followers how to work on their figure while getting around the city. He watched as she practiced doing “sexy” squats while keeping steady eye contact with the camera. The ring light on her camera shook as she transitioned from a sexy standing crunch into a sexier downward dog.

Just as the video was getting good the influencer sneezed, and of course she wasn’t wearing a mask! Eric adjusted his face mask and rolled his eyes his eyes in disgust. After failing to raise enough influencer revenue to fund itself, Brooklyn had fallen into a spiral which led to a huge influx of Covid 89 infections. Those infections had crippled their content creation economy and led to the city’s bankruptcy. And now every day, Eric was forced to avert eye contact with desperate hipsters who smelled of synthetic weed, and whose faces were covered with hair that’s been knotted up after months without a shower. Water is a luxury here, and an expensive one at that. When he fails to avoid them he is haunted by the sunken eyes pleading with him to spare a “like” or two for a “good cause.”

It was now 4:17 am, and his nerve-integrated Apple watch buzzed with a notification. Eric looks at his phone, “Fuck!” he groans. He was short 1500 “likes” on rent. if he isn’t able to create something with enough engagement to get those “likes” he’ll be evicted from his beloved room on the corner of 145th Street and Broadway. 3000k likes is pretty steep for a room, but it comes with a window, and best of all, it’s in Harlem! Or at least what’s left of it. Eric loves that room, but the neighborhood is what truly had his heart. That small corner was the last existing memory of the Harlem his parents grew up in. It was his last example of something that felt familiar. Most people have gone to Trump Town, or Tesla City for cheaper housing, but he’s willing to pay the extra to stay where he is. And sure, content creation is hard, but unless you are rich, it’s how you pay the bills, and he was determined not to lose his only home. A soft breeze shook him from his thoughts, he had been waiting for the train for over 20 minutes now, and still no updates.

He tried to check Temu’s subway tracker, but all he saw were expired promo codes for transit tickets, partially consenting Throuple requests, and leggo porn advertisements. After mostly holding it together, he could feel sweat building up on the back of his neck, and the phantom pang that hits right before your heart starts to race. He started to pace up and down the platform to do something with this nervous energy, instead, he walked into the home of a family renting one of the benches. The family was using the bench as a base to rest their backs on, while the floor was covered with government-issued blankets and lulu lemon sleeping bags.

The father gave him a dirty look, yawned then signaled for Eric to leave them be. 15 paces from them was a woman, she had on dark blue scrubs and a pair of rundown uptowns (Air Force ones). She looked like a nurse, but she couldn’t be, only the most wealthy people had access to medical certificates, and if you’re rich, you’re not waiting for the Tok train at 4 in the morning. He stared at her for a beat too long and his phone buzzed. She must have “thumbs down” his public profile. That was his third thumbs down this week, the first two he got for liking, but not sharing his state-sanctioned pastors’ Sunday Sermon, and Motivation Monday Sprint posts. if things kept going this way he was going to end up on Rikers Island! Just as he was about to spiral into a panic the familiar vibrations of an incoming train interrupted his thoughts.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the doors loudly creaked open. Just as he was about to take a step in, two peacekeepers pushed him back. A Brooklyn Refugee had stolen someone’s “likes” so now everyone on the platform would have to submit to social media audits. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.