Zoom Out and See the Possibilities

“Lily? Are you there?”

“I don’t see you, but I can hear you…”

“Good morning, everyone!”

Lily watches her screen as squares pop into the Zoom room, one by one, listening to the cacophony of voices overlapping as they enter simultaneously and yet still, somehow, not in sync.

“Hey, everyone, happy Friday. Hope you’re having a good morning so far,” Lily says once they’ve all joined in. Opening up the timer on her phone, she says, “Let’s get to it!” She shows the “30:00” on the screen to the participants of her room, presses start, and the minutes start to count down: 29:59, 29:58…

Starting this writers’ morning study hall has been a lifesaver for Lily. She writes for a living as a contributor to a minimalist blog, and is quite good at it, but the actual writing itself has never been fun. She much prefers reading to writing, but the latter is what pays the bills. To have a time blocked out for writing (and with other people at that) makes it so much easier.

As always, Lily is amused at the paradox of meeting people virtually to write, but then writing in her little black notebook as opposed to typing in a Word document. There’s something that just feels right about writing, by hand, in a physical notebook to literally put words on the page.

At 30 minutes, the timer goes off with a succession of beeps. Moving her pen and notebook to the side, Lily turns off the timer, unmutes herself, and announces, “Time’s up! Good work today, everyone!”

“Yay, we did it!”

“Another writing session in, whoop whoop!”

“Good job, good job.”

“We still have a few minutes left, if you wanna hang out for a bit before we run out of time on this call. What are you all doing the rest of the day?” Lily asks.

“I’ve got work later.”

“I’ve got class, ugh.”

“Just chillin’, but I might go get some groceries...”

As they chat, Lily keeps an eye on the clock. Once she sees “Less than a minute” in the left corner of her screen, she announces it to the group.

“Here we go again!”

“I wonder where we’ll get cut off today.”

“Nobody say ‘this is the longest minute ever,’ and maybe we’ll just be in this room forever.”

“Honestly, the wait and the anticipation are nerve-wracking,” Lily remarks. “Just staring at the timer and then back at you all, back and forth, makes me feel so anxious!”

“Someone should write an article about that: “Zoom’s ‘Less Than A Minute’ Countdown and Its Adverse Health Effects.”

“Oh my god, yes, that would be amazing.”

“Dooooo itttttt!”

“That sounds like something that belongs in The Onion,” Lily laughs.

“Go ahead and write it, Lil - just make sure you credit the idea to me!”

“How generous of you.”

“Okay, but seriously, this is the longest minute--”

And the call ends.

Laughing, Lily exits out of Zoom. As she closes her laptop screen, she stops halfway, and pulls it back up. She types “The Onion” into the search bar and clicks on the website where she finds a notice about a writing contest.

“The Onion is proud to present the 630294th annual Write For Us And We’ll Give You Our Money contest. We invite all to submit an article in the style that everyone knows, loves, and hates us for, about anything you want. The winner will be crowned King/Queen/whatever-the-inclusive-and-nonbinary-version-of-a-monarch-title of The Onion for a day. It’s a prestigious honor, and your glory will stretch to the ends of the earth (that’s for you, flat-earthers) for the world to behold. Oh, also, there’s a $20,000 cash prize. But who cares about that when you might be able to wear the Onion Crown?”

Lily stares at the number on the screen. $20,000 could change her life. She could finally pay off her student loans or start paying for her own Netflix subscription. She could take a trip to Paris like she’s always wanted after the pandemic is finally over!

As she daydreams about the possibilities, Lily suddenly stops herself and reels it back in. I’ve never written satire before, she thinks, who am I to think I could actually do this? Dejectedly, she looks at the article headlines: “February 29th Now Declared National ‘Treat Yourself’ Holiday,” “Maximalism Is Now, Stop Tidying Up With Marie Kondo,” "Newest iPhones Named Tall, Grande, and Venti."

Sighing, Lily closes her laptop, but as soon as she does, she sees the post-it she has taped to the center:

“The only failure is not trying. - Robin S. Sharma.”

Lily stares at the quotation for a moment, contemplating. With renewed energy, she brings back her little black notebook, opens up to a blank new page, and begins to write.

1-minute Zoom Countdown Correlated to Adverse Health Effects, Anecdotal Research Finds

“Sitting is the new smoking,” health experts warned us beginning in 2010. “Eat no carbs,” the Atkins diet advised in 2003. Now, in 2021, there’s something else to look out for: the final minute countdown in a free Zoom meeting.

Random Internet polls show that 69% of Zoom users feel high levels of anxiety when they see the “Less than a minute” notification pop up on their screen. “No one knows what to say in that final minute, which really feels so much longer,” Joseph C. explains. “We all just awkwardly stare at the clock and back at each other’s squares, trying to make the most of the time that’s left, but not really saying anything at all. And then we get cut off when we actually start saying something important,” Adam C. writes. “I feel my heart start to race, and if I can’t end the meeting perfectly, I ruminate on it for the rest of the day,” says Clement T. “I feel a total lack of control, which can totally obliterate any good vibes I’m trying to hold onto,” quips Nicholas L.

Pharmacists say that anti-anxiety drug prescriptions have increased by another 70000%. “If something isn’t done, we won’t even have any more medication to give,” worries Dr. S. Kim. “Perhaps we can try to make that countdown more fun, like a game: have a staring contest with your fellow meeting participants?”

During a call I have with Eric Yuan, CEO of Zoom, I suggest getting rid of the counter altogether, maybe just giving everyone free unlimited group Zoom meetings. “Zoom made plenty of money during the pandemic, they can handle it,” I state boldly.

“I won't comment on that, but I do stand in solidarity with users who may not be able to afford the premium version of our service. As such, I have opted to use the free 40-minute version myself,” says Eric, just as the “Less than a minute” notification shows up on my screen.

We lock eyes. The countdown begins.

1,200ish minutes’ worth of Zoom meetings later, Lily opens up her email towards the end of another writer's session looking for one thing, and instead, finding a message from The Onion at the top of her inbox. She freezes, all thoughts about the article she was in the middle of writing completely gone. For the last month, she has tried to keep her expectations at bay, but she can feel her trepidation creep up as she slowly moves her mouse to open it. Her eyes scan the message, widening in astonishment.

She won.

Immediately, she unmutes herself and shrieks, “I WON THE ONION COMPETITION!”

“You won?!”

“Ahhhhhh!!!”

“That’s awesome, Lily, congrats!”

Laughing, Lily says, “I couldn’t have done it without you all.”

“Looks like Lily’s buying everyone takeout tonight!”

“Super happy for you! That’s crazy!”

“So what are you going to do with the prize money?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lily says, “I just found out. I really want to travel at some point, but there are student loans to pay off and other practical things I feel like I should do with it…”

Just then, the notification announcing that her free 40-minute meeting is about to end pops up.

“Actually, I know the first thing I want to do.”

And she clicks on the “Upgrade to Pro” button with a satisfied smile on her face.