What the Backstreet Boys Taught Me About Internet Politics

Bastions of Internet knowledge.

When I was young'in, I attended 4 different high schools before graduating. In the states, high school is 4 years of study and jumping schools isn't the norm. The first school was an arts school that combined junior high with the first year of high school (7th through 9th grade). The second school was the local high school I was assigned to by location (10th grade), and the third was a brand new high school built to manage overcrowding that my district re-assigned me and half my classmates to (11th and 12th grade). In this shuffling about, I managed to miss a required math class and found myself in my last term of my senior year missing a credit that I would need to graduate come Spring with the rest of my classmates.

In came high school number four: a night school that offered the missed class I needed that I would attend after my regular full day of classes. The night school was alternative schooling for an eclectic mix of students who didn't fit the traditional mold; young mothers, working students, students who were not up to speed for their grade level, older students, students who spoke English as a second language (like the French-Arabic guy who I would sometimes make-out with in the parking lot, but that's another story), and students who missed a class (like me). 

One night I made it class a little bit early and took a seat next to two friendly looking girls. We started talking. They were younger than me, both around 15. Let's call them Girl A and Girl B. What followed was an encounter that I still think about, years later.

"He called me again last night," Girl A said to Girl B.
"For real?" Girl B replied.
"Yeah, he says he's really into me," Girl A said.
Girl B looked at me and excitedly said, "She knows the Backstreet Boys."
My reaction was naturally skeptical. "How?" I asked.
"I know a girl who knows them," Girl A explained. "She gave them my number and we talk."
"But, how do you know it's them?" I said.
"I talk to Kevin. He knows things only the Backstreet Boys would know," Girl A earnestly replied.

But, how would you know what only they would know? I wanted to ask, but stopped myself. I weighed the possibility that this was a stupid joke. A really stupid joke. Or was it possible that Kevin was actually calling this girl every night? That would be some serious dedication to the fans, or worth a call to the police, since 15-year-old girls are underage and Kevin was grown man. But after listening to her talk a few more minutes it was obviously not the case. Too many details didn't add up. Could this girl really believe that the Backstreet Boys, who were at the height of their late '90s popularity, would be calling a 15-year-old girl they've never met before just to chat for hours?

The late '90s was a sad time deprived of proper eyebrow care due the Great Tweezer Shortage of '97.

"Kevin is so sweet, he said he wishes he could be with me," Girl A continued.
"Where did he call you from last night?" I asked.
"He's on tour across the country," Girl A replied.
"OK, but where?" I pressed.
"I dunno, maybe California?"
"What time does he call you?"
"After their concert's over. So, like, he called at 9 last night."
"Oh." 

Class was about to start, and I found myself wondering what to say. If I told this girl, who seemed nice enough, the truth -- that her friend was lying to her, that some unknown guy was calling her pretending to be a Backstreet Boy, that Kevin probably had better things to do than call her, that California had a three-hour time difference from North Carolina and most concerts were not over by 6 -- I'd be right.

But I'd also kinda be a dick, because she was so earnest in her belief (or an incredibly good actress). And maybe deep down she didn't really believe it, but hoped upon hope that it could, maybe, possibly, be true. Was there anything I could say, really, that would weigh against the idealistic hope that not only did a cute boy like her, but a cute boy who was also momentarily one of the richest and most famous cute boys in the world liked her? Maybe. But she'd be pissed off. Or upset. I didn't want to hurt her, and I had no way of knowing if the truth would hurt her or if she'd laugh it off. It would take some time to explain. And if it didn't come out right, or if she blamed me for taking away her idealistic fantasy, was I willing to deal with the consequences? Anger affects different people in different ways. Bad reactions can go from words to harassment and slashed tires all too quickly.

So, I smiled and said, "Well, good luck," and never sat next to them again.

It has helped me have patience wading through the mere of the Internet to remember that encounter. It helps in real life as well, when one of my uncles rants about Obamacare, or when one of my friends insists The Dave Matthews Band is the best band in history.

Just because you really want to believe something doesn't make it right, and sometimes I haven't the time, patience or funds to argue with you. Some of the things that I know, for absolute fact, are utterly and completely wrong, often get a smile and a nod and a, "Well, good luck with that." Not because I agree. Not because people can't change. Not because I feel as if my voice doesn't matter and won't make a difference. But because some people are trolls, some people are stubborn, some people just want to argue for hours to hear themselves argue, some people direct their anger at being proven wrong with facts at the person presenting them, and some people believe in boy banders. The best course of action in those cases is to agree to disagree and walk away.

Because Ron Paul knew the content of his racist newsletters. The gross pay gap between men and women, in particular women of color, needs to be eradicated immediately. Rush Limbaugh is a gigantic blathering bully. And no matter how much your 15-year-old heart wants to believe, Kevin from the Backstreet Boys is not calling you for an hour each night to talk about what you had for lunch.