First Class?
I’d never flown First Class in my life. I hadn’t flown all that much, to be honest, but when I did, I was always crammed into those tiny coach seats in the back of the airplane, like a pleb. Things like free food and legroom and short security lines were completely foreign concepts to me.
But, I guess, they wouldn’t be anymore, now that I was entering this new phase of my life. The high-tech, high-flying, Silicon Valley start-up phase.
Sauntering through the Priority Boarding lane, I reveled in my new status, thinking about how different things were going to be. Daily lunch would no longer be a sad peanut butter sandwich; it’d be an overpriced organic salad packed with non-GMO superfoods. And forget fitness Groupons, because now I could afford my very own gym membership, at a fancy gym.
Most important, I’d no longer be drowning in debt. Because once I got my big payday, the first check I’d write would be to my student loan servicer. I couldn’t wait to get the notice that my obligation was paid in full. I’d frame it and keep it on my desk, right next to my college diploma. Finally, this computer science degree was going to prove its worth.
After flying through security, I made my way to the Sky Club, also known as the First Class Lounge. It was even more beautiful than I’d imagined it would be. A smiling woman greeted me at the front desk, confirming that yes, I belonged here, before handing me a complimentary glass of white wine. She directed me to a room filled with ambient music and plush seating, framed by glass walls overlooking the bustle of the runway. I loaded a plate up with munchies from the free snack bar, and settled into a comfy chair.
This was the life.
As I feasted on tomato basil flatbread crackers with a peppercorn parmesan spread, I connected my phone to the Sky Club’s WiFi. With the commotion going on all day, I’d barely had time to check in on social media. I started by loading my Twitter feed, where, to my delight and surprise, #JerkAlert was trending again.
It took a minute to scroll through an interminable number of retweets and replies before I finally found the source of the drama: an article on BrosBeforeHos.com. At which point, my delight disappeared.
JerkAlert: Where Trash Girls Talk Trash
By Anony-bro
Posted: Monday, April 23, 1:28 p.m.
Fellas, we’ve all been there: you meet a chick on Fluttr, you hit it off, and you wind up banging. The next day, while you’re chilling at home trying to complete a mission in Mass Effect, she’s blowing up your phone, asking to see you again. What gives?
Everyone knows Fluttr is a hookup app. By design, it encourages superficial, split-second decision-making—not the smartest way to go about meeting the love of your life. Yet so many people (read: women) insist on treating it like a matchmaking service.
Now these birdbrains have formed a support network in JerkAlert (that’s .biz, not .com...someone in marketing didn’t do their branding homework before coming up with that name), a crowdsourced directory of men whose Fluttr hookups expected a whole lot more than just a one-night stand—and when they didn’t get it, they got even.
We get it. These girls are hurt. But, in some cases, the stuff they’re posting is downright cruel. So if you’ve ever swiped right and had it turn sour, you might wanna check out JerkAlert to see if you’re listed. Then change your name and move to a different neighborhood, pronto.
With my heart in my throat, I texted the link to the girls:
MEL:
Whit, have you seen this?
WHITNEY:
Ugh, yes.
DANI:
WTF is BrosBeforeHos.com?
WHITNEY:
It sounds like some men’s rights activist bullshit.
LIA:
I’ve heard of it before. Jay subscribed to their newsletter.
WHITNEY:
That should’ve been your first clue that he was an asshole.
LIA:
MEL:
Okay, but what about this article? I’m in the airport waiting for a flight to SF right now. What if Fluttr sees this? Should I be worried?
WHITNEY:
No. It’s publicity. You know how much traffic this’ll drive to your website?
LIA:
This article is garbage.
DANI:
Yeah, it’s garbage...but there’s some truth buried in there, too.
WHITNEY:
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
DANI:
Have you looked at the Reddit thread the author references?
WHITNEY:
Don’t have time. Running to SoulCycle. Give me the two-second summary.
DANI:
Basically, most of it’s a bunch of dudes whining and being sexist, but there were a few posts in there that gave me pause. JerkAlert was designed to out the most egregiously offensive Fluttr users, right? Cheaters, harassers, etc. But it seems to be turning into, for lack of a better term, a slam book.
WHITNEY:
Whatever.
Dani sent permalinks to a few comments she felt exemplified her point. Like DJZellyZell, who said:
Some girl I had a one-night stand with six months ago told everyone on JerkAlert I have a “teeny weenie.” But it’s not! It’s a fine size.
Or SlimTheSlug, who said:
Yeah, I made mistakes with my ex, I admit it. I was a bad boyfriend to her, but I was also a lot less mature than I am now. With this site, though, it’s like I’ll never be able to prove I’m a changed man. I’ll always be judged by my relationship with her, for the rest of my life. I can never just wipe the slate clean.
I wasn’t sure why this comment made Dani second-guess the merit of JerkAlert. We all had to live with the choices we made for the rest of our lives. Who knew how SlimTheSlug had hurt his ex-girlfriend, or what he did to her? Maybe she was left with scars that would never heal.
MEL:
I’m not sure I agree with you.
DANI:
Fair enough. Take a look at this one, though.
She sent one more comment, posted by Piquete92:
I got dumped because of my JerkAlert profile. The stuff written there wasn’t even true, but she wouldn’t believe me. JerkAlert is terrible, Fluttr is terrible. The whole internet is terrible. It feeds our worst fears, incites paranoia, turns the past into the present, and ruins the magic of an unknown future. Sometimes I wish we would all unplug from it completely.
There was hurt in those words. Pain, disappointment. At once, my thoughts went to Alex, the look on his face when I showed him his JerkAlert profile. His eyes were so sad. Like he couldn’t believe I’d betrayed him like that.