While others were free to parade around naked on the Internet, and even had my respect for it, I was intended for some higher, nobler cause – something that would make people gasp in a good way, and not out of horror.But now, none of that mattered, as though losing face before a single human resources department was tantamount to being condemned by humanity as a whole.

“Freelance work,” I told my boss and parents alike.

So I did what any reasonable young professional would do: I purchased a high-definition Web camera, excavated a cache of lingerie from the basement and submitted photocopies of my driver’s license to become an adult webcam model.

Even if my employers discovered this sack-worthy secret, it was empowering to know that I was deliberately sabotaging my own career, as opposed to letting it deteriorate organically.

My parents were proud of me, and I was proud that they were proud of me.

Convinced that I was doing the “right thing,” I spent a year botching Excel spreadsheets and crying in office bathroom stalls.