Mateo scrolled through his text messages, trying to process them all: friends from high school he hadn’t heard from in years, his old saxophone teacher Mrs. Rodriguez who’d retired and moved to Arizona, classmates from the conservatory. Even his landlord had texted to ask if that was really him in the video. His phone rang in his hand, making him jump. It was his mother. Mateo answered with a shaky, “Mom?”
“Mateo, baby, what’s going on? Your aunt sent me a video and I’ve been trying to call you for an hour. Is that really you playing at some fancy party?” “It’s a long story, Mom. I—” “It’s beautiful, honey. I’m crying just watching it. I had no idea you were still that good. You said you didn’t play anymore.” “I don’t. I mean, I didn’t. It was just one time. They needed someone, and…” Mateo’s voice cracked. “Mom, everyone’s seeing it. Millions of people.”
“I know, baby. I know. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is what was supposed to happen.” Before Mateo could respond, another call came through. Then another. His phone was ringing almost constantly now. He saw numbers he didn’t recognize, local numbers and out-of-state numbers. He let them all go to voicemail, feeling overwhelmed.
He opened Twitter and immediately saw that he was trending. Not his name, because most people still didn’t know it, but the phrase “saxophone waiter” was the number three trend in the country. People were sharing the video, adding their own commentary, creating memes, writing threads about talent and class and opportunity. A famous pop star had retweeted the video with the comment: “This is what pure talent looks like. Give this man a recording contract.”
A prominent music journalist had written: “In twenty years of covering classical music, I’ve rarely seen a performance this moving. Someone needs to find out who he is and get him on a real stage.” The video had spread beyond the original post. It was on YouTube now, posted by several different people, the views combining to reach over five million. It was on TikTok, cut into shorter clips with different music and commentary. It was being discussed on morning news shows, with anchors shaking their heads at the guests who’d initially mocked him.
Mateo’s hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped his phone. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. Things like this didn’t happen to people like him. Viral videos happened to other people, to influencers and celebrities and people who did things deliberately for attention. He’d just been trying to survive a humiliating moment. He’d never wanted any of this attention.
Another text came through, this one from Tommy, his coworker from last night: Mateo, Mr. Peterson wants you to call him immediately. Like immediately immediately. I think he’s freaking out about the video. Mateo’s stomach sank. The video. His employer was seeing this. Everyone was seeing his work uniform, seeing where he worked, seeing the way he’d been treated. He hadn’t thought about the professional implications. Would they fire him for bringing unwanted attention to the venue? Would they be angry about the way the video made them look?