How to Hack a Heartbreak

by Kristin Rockaway

  He made a little sound of surprise, then said, “Well, JerkAlert. Amazing concept. Truly. Just love it.”

  The guy to Johnny’s left—I couldn’t remember if it was Mitch or Will, they looked the same—tapped the tablet in his hand, and the Fluttr profiles on the flat screen disappeared, replaced with the JerkAlert home page.

  “This is disruptive technology at its finest. In fact, it’s so disruptive, it disrupts disruptive technology.” Johnny cackled at his nonsensical statement. “Tell us how you came up with the idea.”

  “Um, actually...” I pointed down at the laptop bag beside my feet. “I put together a little PowerPoint explaining it all. If I can just connect to your TV, I’ll walk you through it.”

  Mitch (or Will) snickered, and Johnny bit his bottom lip. “We don’t really do PowerPoints here.”

  I blinked. “You don’t do them.”

  “No, they’re counterproductive. I’m sure you worked hard on it, but let’s just chat.”

  “Okay.” I cleared my throat, trying to remember what I’d typed into those slides. Being put on the spot like this always made me nervous; I’d been hoping to use the bullet points on the presentation to guide me safely through this discussion. Now, with these three guys staring at me and no notes to keep me on track, my mind was a total blank.

  Will and Mitch exchanged self-satisfied looks, but Johnny squinted, patiently waiting for my response. And suddenly, I remembered: Fluttr was trying to woo me. I had something they wanted, badly enough to fly me First Class across the country and put me up in a fancy hotel. There was no reason for me to worry about blowing this, because I was the one holding all the cards.

  “Well,” I said, “it all started one night after I’d had a really bad couple of experiences with Fluttr.”

  “Like what?”

  “One guy stood me up. And then another one kept sending me dick pics.”

  “Yeah, that happens a lot.”

  “A lot. And I don’t mean to sound critical, but it doesn’t seem like Fluttr has an effective method of putting a stop to it. You can flag profiles, but they never actually get suspended.”

  “We don’t really believe in account suspension.”

  “Even when people are using their accounts to harass other Fluttr users?”

  “Harassment is a strong word.” Johnny touched the tips of his fingers together and pursed his lips. “I don’t think a man who sends a picture of his penis is trying to purposely make anyone feel uncomfortable. I think they’re just inexperienced.”

  “Inexperienced.”

  “Yeah. Guys are nervous around girls. They don’t know what to do or say. They see a pretty face and they act stupid. I’m not saying it’s right, but I also don’t think it’s depraved, like some people try to make it out to be. Honestly, I don’t think what women experience on Fluttr is any different than what they might encounter in a real-world singles scene, like in a bar.”

  “Interesting.” I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Personally, I’d never had a guy whip his dick out on me in a bar. I was sure it had happened plenty of times to plenty of other women, though I was also sure it happened a lot more frequently on Fluttr. Flashing someone was a lot easier when you didn’t have to look them in the eye.

  But the man sitting across from me was a multimillionaire who ran the most successful dating app in history. Did I really want to have this argument right now, right here, in his executive suite? No. Especially not when there was a good chance he was about to offer me money or a job or both. There would be time to fix what was broken about this system after I’d successfully clawed my way out of debt.

  His attitude certainly explained a lot about why Fluttr worked the way it did, though. It also demonstrated why JerkAlert was a necessity.

  Will/Mitch spoke up for the first time. “It cuts both ways, right? Did you see that Reddit thread about JerkAlert yesterday? Women can be pretty terrible, too.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch/Will replied. “I felt bad for a couple of those guys.”

  “Like the ‘teeny weenie’ dude.”

  The three of them sucked air through clenched teeth, their faces distressed.

  “I was disappointed to see that Reddit thread,” I said.

  Johnny laughed, like I was making a joke. “Nah, that thread was great. As of this morning, there were over nine hundred forty-four comments. You couldn’t ask for a better advertisement.”

  “Yes, but I hadn’t realized the negative ramifications of allowing women to post whatever they wanted on JerkAlert. To that end, I’ve given some thought to different methods of how to police the data to make sure only valid and relevant reviews get posted.”

  He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “Let’s not worry about that. Now, Mitch, can you bring up the search page for a minute? I have a question about how the JerkAlert profiles get linked to Fluttr.”

  Mitch tapped his tablet and we sat in silence for a few seconds, waiting for the page to load. It was awfully slow. Much slower than usual, even when accounting for recent performance issues.

  Then, as if I was trapped in some hideous nightmare, an error message filled the screen: 504 Gateway Timeout.

  JerkAlert wasn’t responding. My app had crashed.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Web traffic must’ve increased because of the Reddit thread,” I said. “The server is probably overloaded.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Johnny said. “The code probably just needs to be refactored.”

  “The code is totally clean, I swear. It’s a hosting issue. If the site was moved to a load-balanced environment, this would not be happening.”

  “Right.” He exchanged sidelong glances with Mitch and Will and I resisted the urge to throw up. Because I knew what they were thinking: Girls can’t code for shit.

  Determined to prove them wrong, I reached for my laptop, flipping it open and turning it on in one movement. “Let me give you a quick code walk-through. You can see for yourself how it works.”

  Johnny held up his palm. “Melanie, that’s not necessary. We’re not interested in the code.”

  “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. I was completely confused. Clicking my laptop closed, I asked, “Then can you tell me why I’m here?”

  “Fluttr would like to purchase the JerkAlert database.”

  “Just the database?”

  “Yes. We’re willing to pay five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Uh...” It was a struggle to form words or to think coherent thoughts.

  Half a million dollars.

  They wanted to give me half a million dollars for something I’d created on an angry whim less than three weeks ago.

  “That sounds...” I took a deep breath, slowly blew it out. Get yourself under control, Mel. “That sounds intriguing. And you’re just interested in the database? Not the code?”

  “Right. We’re gonna chuck the whole front end and integrate it seamlessly with the Fluttr app.”

  “This data is just a starting point,” Will/Mitch added. “Eventually, we’d like to align JerkAlert users with Fluttr accounts so that people can start leaving reviews directly on other people’s profiles.”

  “So, the reviews would no longer be anonymous?”

  “Well, they’d be anonymous to Fluttr users,” he said. “But the important thing is we’d know who was writing them. That way we could track their activity more efficiently.”

  “Obviously,” Johnny said, “we’d also be adding the ability for Fluttr users to review women.”

  “Really?”

  I imagined the kinds of reviews I might find on my Fluttr profile: Snooped beneath my bathroom sink. Stalked my ex-girlfriend. Kept a huge secret from me then accused me of being the liar in our relationship. Horrifying!

  Johnny snickered. “Of course. To
allow women to rank men but not the other way around is reverse sexism, no? And let’s not forget we have a tremendous number of LGBTQ users who would also be participating. We can’t just narrow this down to a man-versus-woman thing.”

  “Right,” Mitch/Will said. “Anyone on Fluttr would be able to review anyone else. No restrictions.”

  I swallowed hard. None of this felt right.

  “What role would I be expected to play in this whole project?” I asked.

  “Role?”

  “Would I be joining the Fluttr team to assist with integration?”

  He looked insulted. “Why would you want to join the Fluttr team? We’d be giving you half a million dollars. Take the money and enjoy yourself. Go travel or something.”

  “Well, I feel like I could bring a lot to the team.” Although, now that I realized what the team was going to be doing with this data, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on it anymore.

  Of course, it’s not like that had ever been an option.

  “Listen,” he said, slowly, as if he were talking to a child. “I’m not sure you’re the right culture fit for Fluttr. To be clear, this isn’t an offer of employment. It’s a one-time business transaction.”

  I bristled at the words culture fit. What did that mean, exactly? Was he referring to the fact that I was wearing a dress and heels while they were decked out in hoodies and jeans? Or was he talking about something more deep-rooted, something completely immutable?

  “So.” Johnny clapped his hands together so loudly, I jumped. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  There were lots of questions swirling around in my brain, but one of them stood out above all.

  “In that Reddit thread yesterday, there was some debate over whether Fluttr was designed for finding hookups or for helping people find love. Which one is it?”

  They all laughed. “Does it really matter? People use it for both, don’t they?”

  “Right. But what was the intention? When you first developed Fluttr, what problem were you trying to solve? How did you envision this app would help people?”

  “Who said anything about helping people?”

  I kept waiting for Johnny to say, “Just kidding!” but instead, the room filled with stony silence.

  “You’re serious,” I said.

  “We’re not in the business of relationships here. We’re in the business of data collection. Do you know how many people use our app every month? Twelve million. Every day, we average over a billion swipes worldwide. That’s an incredible amount of information. Our databases are overflowing with locations, interests, behaviors, messages. That data is powerful and valuable. That’s what matters.”

  “To who?”

  “To advertisers. Personal data is what drives this economy. Not relationships. But, hey, if we help a few people get laid, all the better, right?”

  “Right.” I forced myself to smile, even though I felt like I was going to be sick.

  It turned out Fluttr wasn’t a hookup app, but it wasn’t a way to meet the love of your life, either. It had absolutely nothing to do with human connection. It was all about gathering data, and trading that data for money. Counting swipes, tracking whereabouts, collecting statistics. Hooking into a person’s most private moments and deepest desires purely for a profit.

  “So, what do you say?” Johnny smirked. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

  “I need some time to think.”

  Even as I said the words, a panicked voice inside my head shouted: You fool! What are you doing? Take the money! Now, now, now! But I was too conflicted. Yes, I needed the money, but was this really how I wanted to earn it? I wasn’t so sure.

  Johnny’s lip curled. A man who was used to getting what he wanted wasn’t too thrilled when he heard the word no. Or even the word maybe.

  “You’re taking the red-eye tonight, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Then sleep on it,” he said. “Let me know in the morning.”

  The three of them left the room without saying goodbye.

  25

  My desire to see the sights of San Francisco quickly vanished. Instead, I went straight to the airport and switched to an earlier flight, then spent the entire five and a half hours downing complimentary vodka sodas and spiraling into an anxious abyss.

  I know, I sounded ungrateful. After all, I’d been offered more money than many people would ever see in a lifetime. I should’ve been whooping it up, bouncing around in this spacious First Class seat and planning a student loan payoff party. But I couldn’t move. It felt like a cinder block had lodged itself deep in my guts, pinning me to the buttery leather.

  As I stared out the window into the darkening sky, I kept thinking about how wrong I’d been. The flight, the chauffeur, the hotel—it all had me feeling so convinced that today was going to be the first day of the next phase of my life.

  But it wasn’t. It was more like a false start.

  Don’t get me wrong, half a million dollars would’ve changed my world significantly. It could easily get me out of debt, with enough left over to buy a small studio apartment in an uncool section of Brooklyn. I could even quit the help desk, remain funemployed for a little while.

  Once I did that, though, what came next? I couldn’t very well kick my feet up and do nothing for the rest of my life. Even if I wanted to, half a million dollars wouldn’t sustain me forever. So where would I go from here?

  I’d always said I wanted to create something of value. Not just monetary value, but a product or a service that would improve people’s lives. With JerkAlert, I’d done that: I’d created a safe, communal space for women to vent about being harassed, to call men out on their inappropriate behavior, and to help find a trustworthy partner. To me, it wasn’t just “data.” It was one huge cautionary tale. It was catharsis.

  If I accepted this offer, though, I’d be selling out to the very same man who’d created the problem I’d been trying to solve. A dick pic apologizer, who enabled Fluttr to become a free-for-all of harassment and emotional detachment. A man who reduced everyone’s personal experiences to a bunch of data points. Handing this database over to him meant JerkAlert would be dismantled, the information would be sold to advertisers, and all that value I’d created would go away.

  Then again, if I was being honest with myself, was JerkAlert really as helpful as I’d deluded myself into thinking it was? In the end, it had turned into a slam book, like Dani said. Sure, it had helped Lia discover the truth about Jay, but that was only after she’d caught him in a lie. JerkAlert merely confirmed her suspicions.

  And then there was Alex. Every time I thought about what went down between us, a knot formed in my stomach. Because now that I’d had some distance from the whole situation, I realized JerkAlert hadn’t helped me out. It had actually made things worse, feeding my paranoia. I had an almost obsessive need to catch him in a lie, and I didn’t stop searching until I found one. I guess in that way, JerkAlert had helped me out.

  But let’s say I’d never found out the truth about Jenny. That I’d gone on believing she was an inconsequential first Fluttr date, and never thought twice about her again. Would it have changed the fundamental foundation of my relationship with Alex? I wasn’t so sure.

  Yes, it was a lie. But it was an inconsequential lie. It didn’t impact our interactions, our experiences, our feelings for one another. At least, it wouldn’t have if I’d simply let it go.

  The truth was, I’d been far more dishonest with him than he’d been with me. Spying, snooping, keeping secrets. That’s what ultimately led to the demise of our relationship. Not his little white lie.

  When my plane touched down at JFK, my head was pounding. I’d achieved a new low: hungover at 10:00 p.m. Grabbing my bag from the overhead, I dragged myself down the Jetway and into the terminal, where there was no one waiting for me wit
h a fancy placard or a Tesla. There was only the AirTrain, and the A train. On the walk home from the subway station, I saw a drunk man pissing on a pile of garbage bags, as if to say, “Welcome back to Brooklyn.” This was my low-tech, low-flying lifestyle.

  I fell asleep well after midnight, sleeping fitfully. By the time I woke up, the sun was already shining high. Light streamed in through the cracked blinds, illuminating the mess on my floor. Rumpled clothes, discarded Doritos bags, the crack in my phone that I couldn’t afford to get fixed.

  And I realized: Why on earth would I ever turn this Fluttr offer down?

  By selling out, I would become part of the problem. But if I said no, it’s not like the problem would magically disappear. Fluttr wasn’t going anywhere. With millions of people and billions of swipes, it was only going to keep growing, getting bigger and more popular, collecting more data and earning more money. Why shouldn’t I get a piece of that pie?

  This was what the tech industry was all about. Johnny said it himself: the economy ran on data. To be successful meant to make some morally ambiguous decisions. Look at Hatch, and that farcical Code of Conduct. Vijay talked a lot about decency and respect, but when it came down to it, he didn’t foster a decent or respectful work environment.

  So instead of playing the martyr, I was going to pay off my loans. And fix this damn phone screen. Maybe I’d even take a proper vacation. But, perhaps most important, I was going to quit that miserable help desk.

  I picked up my phone and shot off an email.

  * * *

  From: Melanie Strickland

  To: The Fluttr Executive Team

  Subject: re: CONFIDENTIAL

  Hello,

  After giving it considerable thought, I’m pleased to inform you that I gladly accept your offer to purchase the JerkAlert database.

  Please let me know how you’d like to proceed with the transaction.

  Sincerely,

  Melanie Strickland

  * * *

  As I hit Send, I sighed, releasing ten pounds of pressure from my chest. This wasn’t exactly what I thought my big break in the start-up world would look like, but it’s what I had. And it wasn’t bad.