It Could Happen to Anyone – But Probably Just You
by David Palethorpe
“It could happen to anyone…”
We’ve all heard it — that tired old phrase people trot out when someone has been caught red-handed or is about to be publicly embarrassed.
It’s usually followed by an awkward laugh, a pat on the shoulder, and a half-hearted attempt to downplay what everyone knows was avoidable in the first place.
Well, I have news for you: it couldn’t happen to anyone. Because if it could, surely it would happen to everyone.
Where it might happen to anyone, however, is on that great leveller of human behaviour — the internet.
Or as they say up North, “tinternet.”
I suspect the number of times people used the phrase “it could happen to anyone” increased dramatically during COVID-19.
After all, lockdown created the perfect conditions for human error: too much time, too little company, and far too easy access to the online world.
As people sat at home, idly scrolling through endless feeds and chat rooms, I wonder how many suddenly made “new friends” on social media.
You know the type — people who claim to share your interests, your humour, your dreams.
Before long, the friendly chats turn personal.
The personal chats turn intimate.
And the next thing you know, emails are being exchanged containing sentiments that are… shall we say, of dubious content.
After months of isolation, the heart can override the head — and sometimes the keyboard.
Until one day you discover that your new online love — the 22-year-old redhead from Dumbarton who “works in marketing and loves dogs” — is actually a 72-year-old retired bus driver from Evesham who only loves Spam sandwiches and crosswords.
It’s at that point that people reach for that old line of defence:
“Well, it could happen to anyone!”
No, it couldn’t.
It happened to you.
That’s the problem with the virtual world — you can expose yourself in all your naked glory while sitting in the safety of your own living room.
One simple tap of the ‘Enter’ key and your deepest, most personal thoughts are launched into cyberspace, where they will circulate forever.
Normal rules of conduct, restraint, good manners, and decorum don’t seem to apply online.
People who would never dream of shouting at someone in the street will happily type abuse in block capitals to complete strangers.
And let’s not forget the unthinking “Like” or “Share” of a post that turns out to be racist, sexist, misogynistic, or otherwise offensive.
Those moments have a nasty habit of resurfacing years later — especially if you ever fancy a career in politics.
Screenshots, after all, are forever.
It’s easy to wander into trouble online.
You may inadvertently stumble across a website you didn’t mean to open — but keeping it open is a choice.
Take, for example, the simple task of searching for the lyrics to Everlasting Love by the group Love Affair.
Type in “lyrics to the song Everlasting Love by Love Affair” and you’ll find exactly what you wanted.
Type in just “Everlasting Love” and you may find yourself staring at something altogether more… revealing.
Let’s just say that in some corners of the internet, “Everlasting Love” takes on an entirely different meaning — one that’s both anatomical and alarmingly enthusiastic. (Or so I’ve been told)
The extra time people spent online during lockdown and since has also shone a light on the curious ecosystem of conspiracy theorists who inhabit cyberspace.
They range from harmless eccentrics to full-blown, tinfoil-hat-wearing nut jobs.
And then, of course, there was the former and now once again President of the United States and here in England Nigel Farage — proof, if ever it were needed, that access to Wi-Fi should sometimes come with an intelligence test.
Who knows — perhaps there’s even a secret corner of the web dedicated to modern-day Luddites, a forum for people proudly opposed to technology but somehow still using it to tell everyone about it.
The internet is a two-dimensional world that tempts us away from the three-dimensional reality we actually live in.
It’s filled with wonders — the largest library ever created the ability to translate every language, to explore every idea.
But it also hides more questionable corners: the places where “flexibility” means something quite different from what your physiotherapist had in mind.
Stray into the wrong site and you could find yourself knee-, waist-, or even nipple-deep in a digital swamp of pornography, conspiracy, and chaos — all without leaving your armchair.
Science and technology have given us incredible tools.
The vaccines that helped save millions of lives from COVID-19 were designed and developed by scientists and technologists sharing information across the world through technology.
Without them, we’d still be clapping on doorsteps and disinfecting our shopping deliveries.
But with the same brilliance that can decode DNA and build Mars rovers, we’ve also managed to create cat memes, deepfakes, and dating apps that pair humans with bots.
The microchip has made geniuses of some, addicts of others, and fools of many.
Which is why, perhaps, those who’ve resisted embracing the digital revolution might be onto something.
The so-called technophobes who still write cheques and read paperbacks can sit back smugly and say:
“It could happen to someone.”
“It could happen to anyone.”
“But it couldn’t happen to me.”
Because they’re not out there clicking, swiping, and posting their way into trouble.
They’re living in the real world — a world where embarrassment fades with time rather than being stored permanently on a server in California.
So, the next time you hear someone sigh and mutter the excuse, “It could happen to anyone,” remember and perhaps point out to them,
“It probably couldn’t”.
“It just happened to you“.
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