About François La Haye
The hot air batters the city. My car brings me to him. People go by, carrying their empty, drained eyes. It’s one of those days. It takes 30 minutes to find a parking spot. I get out and find the spot. He usually comes by here. I better prepare for him, they always lie. The file has coffee stains; Malone must be drinking again. Maybe I should try it too. Maybe it’s the only way to find some happiness in this harsh and lonely world.
I open the file. “François La Haye” is his name. Belgian, born around the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, in a time where hope still existed. Fluent in French, English & Dutch and has some basics in Portuguese, Spanish, Swahili & Turkish. He studied commercial engineering and works as a Data Analyst, has various certifications in coaching and facilitation. He also helps out in some type of leadership or public speaking club. He also spends his time on “art” projects in music, writing, theater/improv, comedy & podcasts. This is all from his LinkedIn Profile. This generation doesn’t care about their privacy. Lucky me, it makes this job so much easier.
Government documents say he’s a father of two girls, he’s unmarried but lives with the mother of his kids. His father is Belgian, and his mother came from Congo and received the Belgian nationality. From his purchasing history, he dulls up his senses with music, books, various trainings, board games, traveling, food takeouts & restaurants. Most Marketing AIs profile him as a Geek, Traveler, Gourmet, Art lover, Adventurer & Seeker of knowledge. Lastly, his social media seems to be full of jokes, trolling & supposedly “witty” remarks on society. Like everyone, he just criticizes the world from the safety of his room but doesn’t do anything about it. Who can blame him? Why risk your neck for this rotting society?
Here he comes.
“François La Haye? Dick Dickinson, Brussels Police, do you mind answering a few questions?”
“No, of course not. Can you walk with me? I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“Fine, I’ll go straight to the point. Your blog is taking up limited resources of the Belgian servers. Why should we keep it online?”
He seems surprised. Did he really think he could just share his opinions without us controlling them?
His answer is boring. It’s the same as all those other ones. Why is it that all those self-important people all say the same things? He gives his own version of the claim: In a post-truth world, we need sincere, authentic people like me to share their views on the world to help change it.
“But, Mr. La Haye, why should we keep yours? Why should we keep your blog over, let’s say, some prominent philosopher like Bernard-Henri Lévy?”
“I think I have some great ideas to share.”
“Not good enough, La Haye. Your articles have no clear structure; they’re not even in one language. They’re too long, filled with grammatical errors, and worst of all, they’re weird and unclear.”
Crying? Seriously? From his profile, you would think that this François La Haye had more spine.
“But… Sir…”
“No buts. Why, La Haye? Why should we keep your blog online?”
“But my blog is about helping people understand the world so that they can use that understanding to create their dreams. It’s about helping others. I’d like to think that I can inspire people to enjoy their lives. I try to make the articles simple, direct, fun, and actionable. I want people to be happy, I want them to laugh. We focus so much on the negative in life that I want people to believe that life can be great. If I can’t have this blog, I don’t know if I’ll still believe it myself.”
Sobbing, he can’t get a word out anymore. Part of the job, I guess. No point in staying here talking to him. I go for my for my car when the bastard screams at me:
“What are you creating?”
“What do you mean with “What are you creating?”
“Why are you doing this to me? You could have put my blog offline without coming here; why do this?”
“It’s protocol, Mr. La Haye.”
“Not even out of politeness, huh? Well, thanks for the heads up. I hope you’re satisfied with what you’re doing with your life.”
How dare he? Satisfied with what I’m doing? That’s not what life is about, not in this city. In this city, only suffering exists. In this city, only survival exists.
Still… He seemed… sincere. It’s been so long. Maybe I can put his folder on the bottom of the pile. Maybe I can check out some of his articles… Maybe.