Adria Richards is not a person. She is a hologram reverse engineered by woman-hating reactionaries to perfectly fulfill every antifeminist nightmare. There is just no way that this human being can really exist.
Or if she does, I salute her canniness. She is the hedgehog who knows one thing: how to latch on to PC self-flagellants with computer money and promote herself without actually doing any work or spreading any knowledge. She is a perfect creature of our time.
She doesn't deserve death threats, but, as a Developer Evangelist she ought to know that a twitter death threat is as credible as a craigslist ad for free pussy. The guy didn't deserve to get fired but, who knows. Maybe they just needed an excuse. He mentioned liking his job, which means he sucked at it. If you're leaving enough on the table to be happy at the end of the day you aren't a productive worker. Like a
wise man once said, what would it take for them to kick Jordan out of the league versus a guy riding the bench?
Back to her, though-- her whole life was building to this moment. Her reason for being is to get famous by being offended. This is her
Ulysses. A success beyond her wildest dreams.
I am the most famous offended person in the world, and rivers of fresh offences just keep flowing in. They want to rape me, they want to kill me. She felt like Joan of Arc when she heard the dick joke, she said. Imagine how her mouth watered when they said they really wanted to wheel her to the stake.
Death threats! She thinks, in the tone of a thirteen year old girl asking Bieber to the dance and hearing “yes.”
There is nothing but calculation happening behind Adria Richards' eyes. She is not a person. She is what happens when you feed a bunch of slogans from a cultural studies department meeting at a third tier stoner college into a hat and just keep picking them out at random.
African Americans Can't be Racist Marginalized Privilege Rape Culture Hegemonic Cisnormative Microaggression. She got this job and then in her heart she was just begging them to fire her. Or better still, begging them to say something racially insensitive, or-- God-- dare she hope to be sexually harassed? Waiting and praying for that one magic slight that would launch her up to the Olympus of self-pitying internet scolds. And then this... this. Fucking Powerball.
Meanwhile, somewhere, a genocide survivor is off to a productive day, not dwelling on it.