When my brother asked me to download and install Zoom, the app’s security lapses were already in the headlines, so I can’t plead ignorance. But what the hell, I’m a thousand miles away and I wanted to see my siblings and nieces and nephews in a Brady Bunch format, so I installed Zoom on my laptop.
I’ll skip writing a review about the ordinary technical glitches, and how half of every conversation seems to be everyone saying “I can’t see you” and “Mark dropped off,” and how the sound was so unreliable that I often used the “chat” function to type comments instead of actually speaking. All that’s
beside the point.
What you need to know is that I don’t like to be on camera. My apartment is a mess, I’m a mess, and I’m usually sitting here in my underwear, or less. I’m an introvert, so I simply never invite anyone into my home, and inviting a camera into my home falls under
the same rule, so — nope.
That’s why I installed Zoom on a computer that
doesn’t have a camera, leaving no possibility that anyone could see anything I don’t want them to see. Or so I thought.
Before we Zoomed, I found an amusing picture online, of a man even older and uglier than me, and added that as my Zoom profile picture. When the family got connected, I could see and hear everyone, and they could hear me, but they could only see that photo of a man who isn’t me.
Everything went fine except for the ordinary glitches that plague every Zoom meeting. We Zoomed again and again, with no unexpected problems.
Our fourth family Zoom was earlier tonight. We were all chatting as usual, and again I was represented visually by that old toothless man. Both my brothers were on the call, with my mother, my sister, an old family friend, a nephew and a couple of my nieces. Everything was all yakity kay, and as usual, and then —
Without warning, without me touching anything, the on-screen photo of the old guy flickered away, and in its place appeared this silly “success” meme. →
My sister and nephew read the meme out loud, wondering what it meant and what had happened to the picture of the old man. My Mom said, “Well, that doesn’t look ‘successful’ to me.”
The photo and the meme are both on my laptop, but they’re not even in the same folder. I had never uploaded the meme to Zoom — Zoom helped itself to that image, and shared in instantly with my family.
And I was thinking of all the other JPGs on my computer that Zoom might’ve randomly shared with
my family — including my sizable library of pornography. After several seconds in shock, I closed out of Zoom, leaving the conversation without another word.
Can’t see any way that what happened could’ve been caused by me or by my laptop, so very obviously, it’s a problem with Zoom’s software. I’m not reporting it to Zoom, because fuck Zoom, but I’ve written it up here, as a warning to others.
I’ve sent the family a quick email announcing my resignation from Zoom, uninstalled the app, and will never Zoom again.
6/13/2020
Republished 1/28/2025
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