A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI
00:00 — Joining the meeting
You arrive early, which feels suspicious. No one else is there. You stare at yourself. You immediately dislike your face. You adjust the camera upward. Worse. Downward. Now you look guilty. You settle on “resigned.”
00:02 — Someone joins
You nod politely at the screen like it’s a hallway encounter. They do not nod back. You wonder if nodding is still a thing. You stop nodding. It feels rude.
00:04 — “Can everyone hear me?”
Everyone says yes. Someone cannot hear you. Someone else is muted but talking confidently into the void. This is the ancient ritual. It must be honored.
00:07 — The agenda appears
You pretend to read it while scanning faces for emotional weather. One person looks alarmed. One looks like they’ve been here since 2009. One is definitely answering emails. You briefly wonder if you look like you’re answering emails.
00:10 — You speak
You say: “That makes sense.”
What you mean: I am buying time while I locate the thread of the conversation that snapped five minutes ago.
00:12 — Your face freezes
You hold perfectly still, hoping the freeze makes you look thoughtful rather than mid-blink. You fail. You now resemble a man who has just realized something too late.
00:15 — The Unexpected Question
“Joey, what do you think?”
Your brain performs a physical maneuver, like furniture being rearranged in a hurry. You say something measured. You feel proud for exactly four seconds, then remember a better sentence.
00:18 — Someone shares their screen
It is the wrong screen. It contains emails. Or a calendar titled PERSONAL. Or a document named FINAL_v8_REALLY_FINAL_THIS_ONE. No one comments. Everyone comments internally.
00:22 — The Dog / Child / Doorbell Event
A dog appears. A child appears. A doorbell rings like a prophecy. The speaker says, “Sorry about that,” even though this is the most human moment of the meeting.
00:26 — Collective Fatigue Sets In
Everyone leans back simultaneously, like a synchronized swim team trained in exhaustion. Someone asks a question already answered. No one judges them. We are all that person now.
00:29 — “Let’s take this offline”
This is the Zoom equivalent of a gentle burial. The topic is not dead, but it will never fully live again.
00:31 — The Goodbye That Never Ends
“Thanks everyone.”
“Thanks.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Talk soon.”
More thanks. More nodding. Someone waves. The meeting ends but no one leaves. You stare at the screen, unsure who must go first, like polite drivers at a four-way stop.
00:33 — Silence
You are alone again.
You exhale.
You immediately realize what you should have said.
Zoom calls are not meetings. They are small psychological experiments conducted in rectangles, where humans attempt professionalism while quietly negotiating posture, lighting, identity, and the eternal question:
Is this my face now?
Let's Talk About It, Lewis! 