11 Years Ago, I Started Going Viral on Quora. It Terrified Me So I Deleted My Account.
The answers I gave to questions became far more popular than I expected, but I wasn’t prepared for the large number of views and hateful comments.
Back in 2013, I signed up for the nascent question-and-answer website Quora as soon as I discovered it.
Long, long before ChatGPT existed, Quora provided a place where people could ask questions online—either publicly or anonymously—and harness the world’s collective knowledge to their advantage by getting answers from real users with real-world experience.
I was absolutely enthralled with this idea.
I’m constantly pondering the deepest mysteries of the universe, so finding Quora was like hitting the Mother Lode: I could ask all the questions I could think of and the people around me wouldn’t respond the way they usually do.
Before I found Quora, my life consisted of trying to get answers to things that befuddled me, but people usually found this annoying. Here’s an example of how this often played out in real life:
Me: “So, where does the term ‘Sub-Saharan Africa’ come from? What about the Sahara Desert makes it a suitable line of demarcation between the people in the northern and southern parts of Africa?”
Someone Else: “Huh? What, oh… uhh, I don’t know.”
Me: “You’ve heard the term ‘Sub-Saharan Africa’ when people talk about Africa, though, right?”
Someone Else: “Well, yeah, I guess, so…”
Me: “So what is it about the Sahara Desert itself that makes it the ideal marker to bisect the continent? Doesn’t that seem completely arbitrary?”
Someone Else: “(Annoyed) What are you even talking about? No… I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about that before. Who cares?”
I HATE IT WHEN THIS HAPPENS!
I have never understood—and I will never understand—why people don’t ask questions about things that matter like this and why they seem happy to accept things as they are without trying to understand why they are that way.
And I will especially never understand why people get annoyed, sometimes even getting visually and verbally angry at me for asking questions.
Suffice it to say the instant I joined Quora, I was absolutely hooked.
I browsed and browsed for dozens, maybe hundreds of hours, day and night, looking for questions I wanted answers to myself.
What a thrill.
This was a website built precisely for someone like me.
Love at first sight, really.
Sometimes, I found questions that perfectly encapsulated the things I wondered about when lying awake at 3:00 in the morning. I found good answers from smart people who gave me the knowledge to finally scratch the itch I’d had about a specific topic for years or even decades.
I liked the ability for users on Quora to both ask questions and provide answers. When I couldn’t find questions I wanted answers to, I’d ask my own. You know, deep thoughts about things that really matter, like:
Q: Is it true that turning off your air conditioner before you turn off the engine will prolong the life of your car's A/C?
Q: If I were able to launch a rocket to the moon from my backyard, what would legally stop me? Would the government shoot it down? Would I get arrested?
Q: Has an author ever regretted writing a book?
Q: Why do prisoners kill other prisoners? What is their motivation? Is it for glory or notoriety?
Q: Why do some cigarette brands smell worse than others? How different can tobacco brands actually be?
What a fantastic website! I could ask any question, no matter how socially awkward, and people would answer it.
AMAZING!
I didn’t care about the views, clicks, likes, or anything like that. Some of what I wrote resonated with others, and some didn’t. I was just doing it for myself, seeking the wealth of knowledge stored in the collective hivemind of Quorans.
For a while, this was amazing. I could post any question I wanted about any topic, and people would answer.
It was an Autist’s dream.
After a while, though, I discovered the Achilles’ Heel of Quora (and every other website that has tried to fulfill this same question-and-answer niche): people.
People are both the best part and the worst part of websites like Quora.
The people on these websites will either make you think, “This is an amazing platform. I’m so glad I posted here,” or “I should kill myself because I’m the stupidest person in the world, and I regret ever saying anything.”
The questions I was asking started to get views. A lot of views. The answers I was providing also started getting a lot of views.
One question I asked got 11,000 views.
The next got got 14,700.
The numbers started getting even bigger…
One got 271,000.
One got 550,100.
One even got one million views.
The more views they got, the more feedback I got, and a lot of it was bad or mean.
At first, I wondered if it was just Quora.
I tried using Reddit for a while but noticed the same thing was happening there: the very first question I ever posted on Reddit got 818,000 views, 2,900 upvotes, and 381 answers… and there were lots of nasty responses.
All websites like this have the same problem: the people who leave replies or answers to your questions can be amazing, or awful. The more people see your content, the more they engage with it, and this brings out good people and bad people.
I haven’t measured it in any scientific way, but based on simple observation, I eventually started to see that there are a few different types of users who choose to comment on your posts (be that questions or answers).
Reviewing the comments and feedback I got before, it looks like there are about five different kinds.
Five Types of Internet Commenters
The Idiots
The Bots
The Haters
The Trolls
The Helpers
Here’s a little more about each type of account that comment on Quora.
The Idiots
These users are simply fools who are totally unhelpful. Their comments are so bad you wonder if they’re completely illiterate and didn’t understand what you wrote at all or (what’s more likely) didn’t even read what they’re now commenting on.
Whatever they’re going to say, it doesn’t move the conversation forward at all.
Idiots say things like, “Why didn’t you try X?” when you clearly explain that you did “try X.” They aren’t worth responding to, other than sometimes just saying, “Did you even read what I wrote?”
The Bots
These users aren’t really users: they’re automated accounts that give basic, mechanical answers that have nothing to do with anything: usually, they leave links to other websites (often pornographic), or they send traffic to e-commerce websites with affiliate links.
Bots say things like, “Get paid to take surveys! Click here for a $50 Amazon gift card.” They’re pure spam and nothing more.
The Haters
These users have nothing better to do in their lives than post inflammatory responses to what you’ve written that don’t answer your question at all or provide anything new or interesting. They disagree with the entire premise of your question, tell you that your perspective is not valid, or call you names.
Haters say things like, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever read on here. How do you even get out of bed in the morning? You should die.” They’re worth ignoring.
The Trolls
These users (who often may actually be bots) post irrelevant responses and dirty jokes, insult your name, answer questions with questions, contradict themselves, or just try to gain attention to their own comments by hijacking the attention off of your content.
Trolls say things like, “The best way to fix your iPhone is to throw it in the trash and buy an Android instead.” They’re only worth ignoring, usually. The very, very few times I’ve ever “engaged with the trolls,” I’ve regretted it.
The Helpers
These people are perfectly reasonable (and real) people who have something intelligent to say that restores your faith in humanity. Even if they disagree with me, what they’re saying is often worth reading and stimulates thought and further conversation.
Helpers say things like: “Wow, I never thought of that way before. We don’t have that in my country, so I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever visiting the USA.”
They’re nice to hear from, and they’re occasionally worth responding to if only to say “Thanks” or ask a clarifying question.
The problem with the breakdown of all the categories above is that each one takes up about 20% of the responses. So, the first four—which are all bad—suck up about 80% of the oxygen in the room. That only leaves 20% helpful content, which means out of five comments, four of them will be awful.
As a good example of this phenomenon, I dug up an old answer I gave on Quora from over a decade ago, where someone asked this question that was right up my alley:
Q: What are some things that servers in a restaurant don't tell you?
Wow, I thought this was a fascinating question!
I love these exposé-style questions, in which secretive worlds are exposed, the veil is lifted, and consumers find out what really lurks behind the scenes.
In this case, though, I actually had something to offer. Instead of asking a question, I figured I’d submit an answer.
I had a depth and breadth of experience in this topic. I’d worked in restaurants for over five years at three different establishments.
But it’s not just me. I had six siblings who had also worked in restaurants, and all four of my wife’s sisters worked at restaurants.
For Pete’s sake, I met my wife at the restaurant where I worked. She was a coworker of mine for a few months, and I married her right after I quit working there.
I had plenty to say and was happy to share my thoughts and observations.
So, I sat down and started writing. After an hour or so, I had a list of 25 things that “servers in a restaurant don’t tell you,” based on my experience.
At the top of my answer, I very carefully wrote the following disclaimer:
“Based on the fact that this question is asking for the dirt that lurks behind the scenes, I will answer accordingly. Please don't take this as a pessimistic view that restaurants are ALL like this—surely they aren’t. But I've been around them enough to note a few things that I think are pretty commonplace.
Note: I worked in food service at three different places in the USA: the first was a low-end greasy-spoon diner (I hated working here and quit after a few months), the second was a higher-end Italian Restaurant that was a chain, and the third was a large hotel. Each place had a different culture, but here's my observation…”
I reviewed my bullet points, checked my spelling, and… was about to click the “post” button, but then I felt a nagging urge to “go anonymous” for some reason. (This is a feature Quora allows: you can choose to either answer anonymously or with your name and profile showing.)
I chose to answer anonymously and then posted my answer.
Boy, I was glad I did it that way.
The comment section became a cesspool of people who hated my answer. Not all of them, but there were a lot more rude and unhelpful comments than I ever expected.
This was a real wake-up call and a life lesson for me: if you’re going to engage on the internet, you’ve got to be prepared for the responses.
All of them, even the bad ones.
My answer, with 25 meticulous bullet points about the people I met over the years who worked in restaurants, the way they lived their lives, and their behavior on the clock, was less than flattering.
Of course, it was. That was the whole point of the question.
Someone asking a question like “What is something servers won’t tell you?” is clearly looking for gossip, dirty secrets, and tricks that patrons should be aware of.
My answer gave readers all of that.
Yet, for some reason, people came out of the woodwork to denounce me, say that I was unqualified to answer, that I was wrong, that I was stupid, that I was lying, and a whole lot more.
Here are just a handful of the comments people left, many of which I’m still mystified about to this day.
#1: “You’re Just Wrong.”
This kind of comment is simply a stupid response. I found a very specific question (“What are some things that servers in a restaurant don't tell you?”) about a very specific topic I knew about (being a server in a restaurant), and I answered it from my perspective, reflecting on my experience.
This means I can’t possibly be “wrong.” I’m literally just reporting the facts. I don’t even understand why someone would feel the need to comment in this case.
If you had read my answer to the question, you’d see that I peppered it with LOTS of real-life examples. I didn’t exaggerate, and I tried really hard to be fair, not to generalize, and not to create stereotypes.
I gave exact, specific instances of real things I saw with real people I knew that I observed in real restaurants with my own eyeballs and heard with my own ears.
So, when somebody implied that I was “wrong” or that I “didn’t know what I was talking about,” that was… weird and simply erroneous.
One user wrote this:
“Your crazy and wrong about everything.”
Literally, that’s it. That’s the exact quote. That’s all that was said.
It’s kind of funny, especially the fact that in this user’s six-word answer, he or she couldn’t even spell the word “you’re” properly.
#2: “I’ve never seen that where I work.”
I usually try to believe that these comments are left in good faith. In the case of my answer about restaurants, it seemed that most people who said this sort of thing also had to back it up with some version of:
“I work at a Michelin-starred fine-dining French restaurant in New York City serving Haute Cuisine, and Gordon Ramsay is my boss. I never saw what you’ve described happen there.”
Okay, at first glance, I might believe someone like this. But actually, no, they’re lying.
If you’ve read anything Anthony Bourdain wrote in his books (and I’ve read all of them), even he would agree with me.
He worked at Les Halles, which was listed in the Michelin Guide and was a French restaurant in New York City. And all manner of drunken debauchery and illegal behavior went down in his kitchen on a regular basis.
He admits to so much it would turn your stomach:
Astonishing amounts of illicit drugs.
Workplace violence.
Public urination.
Employees showing up to work extremely drunk, high, hungover, or sick.
Shocking levels of fornication and adultery.
X-rated profanities screamed everywhere on a regular basis.
…and so much, much more.
It almost makes you wonder: if you’ve worked at a restaurant and haven’t been arrested at least once, have you ever really worked at a restaurant?
Anybody with the audacity to claim they’ve spent a career in a perfectly squeaky-clean restaurant and hasn’t seen the kind of crap I mentioned in my mini-exposé is simply a liar. I don’t believe them.
But even if someone were to convince me somehow that—Scout’s Honor—they’re completely on the level, and every day they’ve gone to work in a restaurant where their coworkers all whistle while they work, singing gospel songs, and praising the Lord Jesus while banging out meal after meal they can all be proud of, then go home at night and kiss their children without being ashamed of their behavior, AND do so early enough in the evening to tuck them in for bed because they’re excellent parents…
Well, then, you still haven’t disproven anything I said.
If that’s your life, congratulations: you’re the 1%. You are the rarest creature on earth, less common than a White Rhinoceros.
But you aren’t. You’re just a liar.
#3: “You’re not qualified to answer this question.”
This kind of comment totally miffs me. I don’t get it at all.
I’ll use a parallel as an example: I have five children ranging in age from 11 to 18.
If one of my friends, who had zero children, asked me, “What is parenthood like?” I would be perfectly qualified to answer this question.
I couldn’t speak for all parents, of course (and I would never claim to), but I could talk about what parenthood was like from the perspective of being a parent of five children. That is a perfectly reasonable and legitimate perspective.
If someone else overheard me giving my answer and said, “Hey, Ron, hold on, I have sixteen kids. You’re not qualified to talk about parenthood since you only have five,” that would be idiotic.
(Side note: I know people with sixteen kids, and they would never do this.)
We can both have an opinion, an experience, or a perspective. One doesn’t make the other wrong, and one doesn’t disqualify the other.
Yet, here’s an actual comment someone felt compelled to leave on my answer:
“As a former restaurant lifer let me just say that 3 jobs in the industry does not give you enough experience to include every waiter on the planet.”
Oh, golly, this one’s funny.
“Include every waiter on the planet?” Where on earth did I ever say that?
Did this user not see my painstakingly crafted disclaimer at the very top, where I literally spelled out: “Don't take this as a pessimistic view that restaurants are ALL like this—surely they aren’t?”
Why are people like this?
#4: “Who cares? Or “So what?”
One person didn’t like it when I told people that servers perform sexual favors with their managers and chefs in order to gain favor or better treatment.
He angrily shouted his comment in all caps. I can’t recall precisely what he wrote because he ended up deleting it, but it went something like this:
“WHO CARES WHO IS BANGING WHO? THAT’S NOBODY’S BUSINESS AND DOESN’T AFFECT THE SERVICE AT ALL.”
This comment was fascinating for two reasons:
#1: It was eventually deleted. Why? Perhaps this guy was a chef who was fornicating with his waitstaff and felt guilty? Who knows.
#2: The reason why I pointed this out in the first place was because it literally does affect the service. That was my entire point. Yes, the waitress who is f**king the chef is absolutely positively getting special treatment. And that can trickle down to service, for sure. So, he was wrong there, too.
#5: “You’re so wrong I can’t even tell you how wrong you are because I’m running out of room.”
One man wrote nearly 500 angry words in his comment on my answer. I’ll spare you his long, rambling rant, but check out this choice nugget:
“I have worked in every segment of the industry over the last twenty years; from rigs and greasy spoons in my earlier years, to some of the finest establishments in this country.”
Wow, a world expert! I don’t know what to say about this: are people proud of job-hopping? That’s weird.
His last comment was intended as an insult, but it also made me laugh:
“Frankly, the guests you served, and the team members you worked with, are better off without you.”
If that’s supposed to hurt my feelings, that’s cute.
I am definitely better off not working at a restaurant, that’s for sure… because working at a restaurant is a crappy job.
I worked at restaurants, like almost everyone else I knew, because I couldn’t get a better job.
I didn’t have a college degree.
I was young and inexperienced.
I was in a transitory period in life.
I was single, didn’t have a mortgage or actual bills, and I had no kids.
If people working at restaurants think it’s such a thrill and that they’re better off without me in the industry, that is okay with me—one hundred percent.
#6: “Wow, you’re right, and boy, does that bring back memories.”
As I mentioned earlier, not all of the comments are bad. Some of them are good. I was really pleased to get several comments from waiters and waitresses who made it all worth it. Here are a few that I was happy to see:
“Totally agree with everything said here.”
“Spot on, unfortunately.”
“Practically all of your points are spot on.”
“A couple of these are a bit over-the-top for what I've seen (mostly BoH), but for the most part this is as true a list as I can imagine. Yikes. All the things I try to forget now when I go to restaurants. Brought back lots and lots of not-too-wonderful memories.”
At one point, I got a message from an editor of a publication of some sort asking if they could republish my answer with another “media partner” website.
What did they mean?
What kind of website? Some travel blog? A food and wine website? Good Housekeeping? NBC? CNN?
This really frightened me, so I never even responded.
Later, I noticed that my answer was the featured answer on the Quora weekly email that went out to tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, or even millions of people.
This made me sick to my stomach.
I originally created an account on Quora because I wanted to ask questions. After I asked questions, I also wanted to give some answers.
But it was all too much.
I was terrified, so I deleted my Quora account (and my Reddit account) and stopped posting altogether.
Here I am, almost a dozen years later, and I’m still not exactly sure what to do with all of this. I have opinions about life, work, business, and family, and I want to tell my story online—who doesn’t?
But back then, the notoriety of my posts was scaring me off, so I just walked away.
Ironically, here I am now, posting my thoughts out loud on Substack. Will the same thing happen? It hasn’t yet, but it probably will at some point.
Last time, I did it everything anonymously. This time, I’m attempting to be brave, use my real name and face, and let people know who I am. Will I regret it? That remains to be seen.
From Spider-Man, we learn: “With great power comes great responsibility.”
From Quora, we learn: “With great visibility comes great idiocy, and also, lots of hate, and pedantic arguments over unimportant minutiae.”
Or at least we should learn that lesson.
If I can’t come up with a cohesive moral of the story, perhaps we can all take inspiration from the wise words of the Quora user who wrote the final comment on my original post:
“This is ridiculous , u speak for your self maybe. One who has no pride in what they do. I as a server do not follow any of these statements.”
Ouch. Savage.