(Muncie, IN) “I don’t know how it got to be this bad,” admits Glenn Chapman, CPA and father of three, “I just kept adding and adding and adding until it became too much.” Glenn is a tragic story that is all too common in our country. He is ten years out of college with a steady career as a licensed CPA for Mendelton and Rose, has a lovely wife, and three beautiful children named Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. He has a truly good and American life, and yet he has found himself in a dire situation.
“I couldn’t believe the feeling I was getting every time that the Red came on my screen. The little flag meant more to me than anything,” Chapman continued, holding back tears, “I missed my first child’s birth because I glanced down at my phone to see who had been added to my professional circle.” Glenn was clearly digging himself deeper into this hole. What kind of person in their right mind would turn on push notifications for LinkedIn? It was time to have an intervention and put this to bed once and for all.
“I never really thought my actions could have consequences that would affect others besides me. I never imagined it could come to this.” At this point in the interview, Chapman squeezed his wife’s hand and blew his nose before regaining his composure. “I know that I need help, we both do.”
“You aren’t the man I married, Glenn,” Cynthia retorts, her voice trembling with quiet rage, “I didn’t sign up for this!”
A key witness and friend of the family, Marge Berkman, let us know that Cynthia Chapman had told her that the couple had not been able to be properly intimate ever since this all began back in 2011. “She told me that the only way he could get in the mood any more was to get a new connection request. Cynthia made dozens of fake accounts; spending time crafting the resumes to look legit just in case Glenn ever questioned it. What kind of life is that?”
“If it wasn’t for my kids, I don’t know where I would be. Probably in another professional development seminar with my egregious husband,” Cynthia sighed.
“I think my lowest point was when I tried to purchase LinkedIn Premium, that was really when I started to see the error of my ways. I had been a LinkedIn All-Star for quite some time, but I needed to know what Premium felt, tasted like,” said Glenn, with a twinkle in his eye. “It was as I was getting out the Delta Airlines Reward Credit Card that I had recently signed up for when I first noticed The Sludge. It was dark in color and dripping slowly from the card with the consistency of chewing gum. It spread to my keyboard and locked up my typing abilities. I believe this was truly a sign from The Great One that it wasn’t my time yet. I logged off my computer, sold the sludge filled keyboard on Ebay, and never looked back.”
Glenn, Cynthia, and their three offspring now live happily in Des Moines, enjoying the simpler things in life. The children each have a horse they like to play with. Myrrh even claimed their horse’s name was Bill Gates, what a treat! It seems that the Chapmans are free of this burden, one that affects so many of those closest to us. If you have a white male in your life, somewhere in the age range of 25-45, with a job as a financial advisor, make sure and tell them that there is help for people like them. You can visit a website that helps cases like this at LinkedSin.com or call toll free at 888-IAM-DIRT. It’s never too late to treat and ignorance is the most dangerous weapon that they have.
UPDATE: We went back in to check on the family when we heard about the Microsoft acquisition and found the Des Moines home of the Chapman’s abandoned. There was tape over the door that said “crime scene: do not enter” and the windows had been bashed in. We could not find any other clues, but when we went out to the barn where the horses had been we almost couldn’t believe our eyes.
What we saw was a fully naked Glenn sitting in a pentagram with seven Blackberry cell phones at the edges, painting himself black and red while reading the terms and conditions from the bottom of the site in a language none of us recognized. He had not heard us approach but when the flash went off on my photographer’s camera his eyes shot up, bloodshot and yellow. The entire place smelled of burnt straw and there was something splattered on the walls. “Is that blood?” I wondered to myself, hoping I was wrong. As we came up to the edge of the circle a low, phlegmy growl emitted from his gaping maw, “Congrats on the anniversary, hope you are doing well.”
I don’t remember what happened next, but I never did see my photographer again. I did receive a letter a few days later from his home address that simply stated, “I have joined the Sludge Broil. Do not come searching for me.” I guess he found what he was looking for, and I wish him the best of luck in the next step in his career.
This article was written by Nathan Ellwood who has way to many connections on LinkedIn. Follow him on Twitter @NPEllwood