John Price stared at his computer screen, the bright blue interface of HFBoards glowing in the darkened room. He had been at it for hours, spamming threads with opinions nobody asked for, arguing over trades that would never happen, and insisting that his favorite team had the best prospects in the league. He didn’t have much else to do these days. Ever since he'd lost his job a year ago, finding work had been like chasing shadows. No responses, no interviews, nothing but rejection.
HFBoards had become a strange comfort. A place where he could distract himself from the gnawing anxiety that came with being unemployed. But lately, even that wasn’t enough. There was only so much satisfaction to be gained from baiting fans into pointless debates. And with his savings drying up, the pressure was mounting.
In a moment of desperation, John made a decision. If he couldn’t get a job, he’d at least pretend he had one. Maybe that would take the edge off the constant feeling of failure. So, the next day, in the general off-topic discussion thread—infamously dubbed "The Useless Thread" by longtime members—he posted a casual update:
"Started a new job today, guys! Feels good to be back in the workforce. Anyone else grinding that 9-to-5 life?"
He hit send, leaned back, and waited for the dopamine hit of acknowledgment. Surely someone would congratulate him. Maybe even ask what kind of work he was doing. But as the minutes ticked by, the replies were not what he expected.
"Yeah right, John. We know you’re still here 24/7," one user shot back.
"New job? Is that why you’ve posted 47 times today?" added another.
"You can’t just make up a job, man. We see you. We all see you."
John frowned, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He hadn’t considered that his relentless activity on the forum might give him away. He tried again, this time a little more defensive.
"Actually, I work from home now. Remote gig. Lots of flexibility."
It wasn’t a total lie—remote jobs were everywhere these days. But the thread wasn’t buying it. They knew him too well.
"Sure, buddy. Next you’ll say you’re the CEO of Hockey Opinions Incorporated," someone quipped, and the post quickly racked up likes.
"Hey, maybe his job is posting on HFBoards. Ever think of that?" another chimed in sarcastically.
Frustrated, John closed the browser window, his heart sinking. He had never felt so exposed. For a while, he’d managed to convince himself that the forum was an escape from the real world, but now it was just another place where he couldn’t hide from the truth.
Days passed, and he kept his head down, avoiding "The Useless Thread" and keeping his posts more on topic. But the emptiness didn’t go away. His online life was starting to mirror his offline one—full of hollow conversations and half-truths. John knew he needed to do something more than pretend.
Late one night, after yet another fruitless job search session, he found himself typing up an unusually honest post:
"Hey, everyone. I know I’ve been kind of off lately, and I made some stuff up about a job. The truth is, I’m struggling. It’s been tough finding work, and I’ve been on here way too much, just trying to distract myself. Not looking for sympathy, just wanted to come clean."
He hesitated before hitting send but eventually did. He didn’t expect much. Maybe a few users mocking him or just ignoring the post altogether. But to his surprise, the replies were kinder than he had imagined.
"Hang in there, John. The job market’s rough right now."
"You’ll find something, man. In the meantime, feel free to spam the hockey threads with me."
"Respect for being honest. We all go through tough times."
John blinked at the screen, a strange warmth spreading through him. For the first time in months, he felt a little less alone. Maybe he wasn’t employed, and maybe the job hunt would still take a while, but at least he had a small corner of the internet where people were willing to let him be himself—even in "The Useless Thread."