Isaac White had, in a moment of dubious clarity, made the rash decision to open up his life to online voting. Every choice he would make was put to the faceless horde of the internet. He was in the second week of a promised one-year term and the flaws in his plan had already been mercilessly exposed.
The masses had decided, by a margin of 78 to 22 percent, that he would be eating dog food exclusively for the next two days. While wearing an inflatable sumo-suit. While watching some horrible children’s TV program on repeat with the volume cranked up. The situation had been like this since about six hours after his website had gone live.
Worse still, Isaac had wired his home with cameras, to broadcast his grand experiment to the world. He had nowhere to hide. Trying to sneak extra food, or even some unapproved water, was almost out of the question. There was only one blind-spot—a four-square-foot area in the bathroom. It was his only measure of privacy, where viewers weren’t allowed.
As he sat, surreptitiously chewing on some petrified Halloween candy that he’d found in a drawer and transferred into his sleeve by sleight-of-hand, Isaac tried to think of a way to back out of his predicament. It would be difficult. He was currently the most famous person in the world.