Gary downloaded TikTok at 3 a.m., fueled by 12 cups of coffee and a deep-seated need to be relevant. By 7 a.m., he’d mastered the “Renegade” dance, though his hips looked like they’d been greased by a confused raccoon. He posted it with the caption #DanceOrDie, which was also the title of his ex’s memoir.
At the office party, Gary spun into the “Renegade” like a tornado in a suit. His colleague Melissa stared at him, her mouth forming a perfect O as she slowly backed away. Gary, oblivious, added a jazz-hands flourish that sent a plate of shrimp cocktails tumbling. “This is a cultural revolution!” he bellowed, as the IT guy rushed in with a fire extinguisher.
By noon, Gary had upgraded to the “Savage” dance, which involved more side-eye and less coordination. His boss, Mr. Jenkins, watched from the elevator, face pale. “Gary,” he said, “you’re trending. On YouTube. In the ‘This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things’ playlist.”
Gary didn’t stop. He danced through meetings, at the grocery store, and once in a yoga class, where the instructor left mid-session. By week’s end, his followers tripled. His mom texted: “Are you famous yet?”
Gary replied: “Not yet. But I’ve got a 404 error on my humility.” He then posted a video of himself attempting the “WAP” dance, which ended with him tripping over a rug and eating carpet. The comments: “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
