“Helllooooo, it’s me: the strongest guy in the world. Stronger than John Cena! Stronger than the Rock! I am THE TANK!”
On-screen, I’m lifting a giant barbell over my head. In the classroom, I’m not paying attention to the video as much as studying the reaction of the class.
No one’s laughing.
“You’re probably wondering how I’m lifting something so heavy,” I begin.
“No, I’m not,” Tyler says.
Mr. Ennis puts his finger to his lips, motioning for us to be quiet. “Let the video speak for itself,” he says.
Back on-screen I juggle three oversized bowling balls as I talk. When I turn to Matt, he gives me a thumbs-up. (He’s always been amazed by my juggling skills.)
“Welcome to my new workout show: Bodybuilding with THE TANK. The first thing we’re going to do is some stretching.”
On-screen, I bend down to touch my toes.
“You should’ve totally added a farting sound there,” Matt says.
Everyone laughs, even Mr. Ennis. I can’t believe my best friend is critiquing my video!
I’m about to respond but Mr. Ennis points to the screen, where I’m lifting an anvil over my head. I squint and struggle under the weight, which in reality is only a pound.
“You can do it,” I tell my viewers. “Grab some weights and work out.”
The class is quieter than after Mr. Demetri gives bad news on the PA system.
“Tune in next time for more exercises with THE TANK!”
Mr. Ennis pauses the clip then puts his hands over his head, as if gathering his thoughts.
Before he can say anything, I jump in. “It’s an instructional video like you said we could do. But it’s also funny.” I turn to the rest of the class. “Don’t you guys want to know how I lifted such heavy stuff?”
“They’re props, right?” Carly asks. “Not real barbells.”
“Yes, but they look like real anvils, bowling balls, and weights, don’t they?”
Carly seems confused. “But they’re not—or you wouldn’t have been able to lift them over your head.”
“That’s why it’s funny!” I turn to Matt and Umberto, hoping one of them will take my side.
“I thought they were real,” Matt says. “It was incredible.”
Even I can tell Matt’s lying.
“Here’s what concerns me,” Mr. Ennis says. “You never know who’s going to click on your videos. Someone could watch this video, think it’s a real exercise show, try to copy you, and get hurt. We talked about making responsible videos in our first class—I’m not sure this one is.”
Why is everyone missing the point?
“The background is great,” Umberto says. “Really nice lettering.”
“Nice lettering?! I worked hard on that video!”
“We can see you put a lot of time into getting expensive props and building a professional set,” Mr. Ennis says. “I’m just not sure a potentially harmful exercise show is the way to go.”
Why did I think that just because I’m kind of creative my work would automatically be good? After years of being at the back of the pack, I had the tiniest sliver of hope that I’d be able to ace this class. Will there ever be anything I’m good at in this world? Because school certainly isn’t one of them. I thought even I couldn’t mess up a YouTube video, but I guess I was wrong.
Riding back home, the only thing Matt and I can talk about is class.
“The good news is that we BOTH have to reshoot,” I say.
“We’re two of the funniest kids in school,” Matt says. “How did we end up with the lamest videos?”
I tell Matt his video wasn’t lame—just a little boring.
“Same thing,” he argues. “But yours was definitely lame.”
I skid my skateboard to a full stop.
“How is lifting three hundred pounds lame?”
Matt doesn’t stop, just yells as he passes me on his board. “It looked fake.”
Which is worse—boring or fake? All I know is that I don’t want to be either.
I jump on my board and catch up to him. “Of course it looked fake—it WAS fake.”
“I know that,” Matt says. “You couldn’t lift that much weight if your life depended on it.”
“That was the JOKE!”
“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.” This time Matt’s the one who pulls over on his board. “I’m as surprised as you are that Carly’s video was the class favorite, but you have to admit, it was real.”
“I wish someone had told me that’s what we should be going for.”
Matt tugs at his hair which he’s growing out. “There are a million directions to go in, with no way to know what’s going to work. Your video could’ve been the one everyone loved—it just wasn’t.”
I’ve been wondering something since we left Mr. Ennis’s class. “But what if OTHER people like my video?” I ask. “Just because no one in class did doesn’t mean that EVERYONE will think it’s lame.”
Matt agrees. “There could be some kid in Argentina who thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.”
I laugh so hard I snort. “One kid in Argentina? That’s the only viewer I get?”
“Don’t feel bad,” Matt says. “My only viewer is probably some grandmother in Kansas who found my channel by mistake.”
“She was trying to buy some medication online, made a typo, and accidentally found your channel.”
“The thing is,” Matt says, “she leaves really thoughtful comments. She’s improved my game tremendously.”
Matt and I continue to make our silly stories even more ridiculous, and just like that we both feel better. We still have work to do, but we’re entertaining ourselves and making each other laugh—which is what our videos were supposed to do.
TODAY IS WHAT?
Dad’s not too happy that I don’t want to use his friend’s props anymore. He tells me Doug gave us a lot of time and that I should make another attempt to use them before bringing them back after just a few days. Unfortunately, I’m determined to come up with something fresher and more original than the Tank. As we load the barbells and bowling balls into his car
