It is just shy of 2pm and I am high on sunshine and pop music and free chocolate bars.
In 15 minutes Jimmy Donaldson, better known as social media sensation MrBeast, is due to take to a stage outside the Sydney Opera House and give away 10 – mostly –luxury vehicles.
Among them are a BMW, a Tesla, a Lamborghini and a Scooby Doo Mystery Machine.
Thousands of us have been gathered here in the heat since midday. There are cameras and screaming children and vaguely social-media-famous people in abundance. This is bigger than Oprah.
This is the most popular YouTuber in the world, filming a promotional video at one of Australia’s best known locations.
MrBeast is no stranger to viral displays of generosity. The 26-year-old Kansas man rose to fame for his mega-scale videos consisting of wild stunts, challenges and massive giveaways.
In one such video, which has raked in millions of views, he gifts a man $10,000 a day to live in a supermarket, the catch being he has to sell $10,000 worth of supermarket items every 24 hours.
He makes it to 45 days, yet by his final hours he is mostly just sitting in a deck chair, staring blandly into space, without wearing shoes or a top.
Yet MrBeast is generally seen as a positive influence on YouTube compared with some of his counterparts, investing much of his millions back into his videos and charitable efforts.
This time, Woolworths – the Australian store that is backing his promotional chocolate bar brand – is the beneficiary. And I am here to witness this weird viral event in the flesh: unedited, unadulterated, alongside about 3,500 others.
For a minute, I wasn’t even going to be let in.
“Hey,” I began casually to security. “I’m here for the YouTube car thing?” After accusations I was without accreditation (I had grossly underestimated the serious nature of the event), I was eventually able to catch the tail end of an unconventional press conference
MrBeast was already walking away, but his minions (sidekicks? other YouTube guys?) remained chatting cheerily. One briefly stole a microphone from a television reporter, declaring: “I’m keeping this.”
“This is so punk rock!” I thought to myself.
Eventually, the public are allowed to file in. They are greeted immediately with identically dressed staff handing out chocolate bars, which taste like every chocolate bar I have ever had in my life.
As the hours pass, with the sun bearing upon me (this is winter, but it’s Sydney so it is 20C), I become slightly delirious. I am starving, I am sweating, and MrBeast is late.
A screen counting down the minutes until he arrives ticks expectantly towards zero and then resets, reaching 10 and then five before jumping to 15. “Are you ready!” a DJ yells. “Not long now!”
I feel like I am in Groundhog Day. I will be here until the end of time, waiting for a YouTuber that never comes. I eat three chocolate bars and a small child mistakes me for staff and asks me where he can buy a MrBeast hat.
Finally, just past 2.30pm, MrBeast and his comrades leap on to the stage. One of the YouTubers is Australian and his name is “Lazerbeam”.
They describe him as “terrible at Fortnite” but “he makes up for it with his mullet”.
“I’ve never heard of him,” a cameraman mutters.
Here’s how the task for the event will work: 10 random people who bought chocolate bars and entered the competition have won a car but not a specific car. There are holes of varying sizes, which the competitors have to throw a rugby ball into to win a specific car. The more expensive the car, the smaller the hole. Simple.
The contestants come out one by one. Awkward interviews ensue. MrBeast asks the first man why the crowd should root for him and he replies “I don’t know”.
He presses on, asking what he will do with the Lambo if he wins. “Drive it,” the man says.
On their first throw, someone wins the Scooby Doo van and describes the situation as “perfectly fine”. Then nobody wins anything. They throw and miss and throw and miss.
Just shy of 4pm, MrBeast calls on the crowd to “be loud” and maintain the hype. But enthusiasm is rapidly waning.
At this point, three free cars remain. The sun is setting and audience members are filing out. A child with a sign reading “My Dad Wants a Lambo” seems less cute than demanding.
They move the contestants closer and then enlarge the holes, hoping this will speed things up. I begin to feel existential.
This is a gimmick to sell chocolate that will be packaged into a viral video to sell more chocolate. It’s basically the Inception of advertising: a product within a product. We are both consumers and witnesses, fans and folly to sell stuff. Am I out of touch? Is this good or bad?
It is almost 4.30pm. Finally, someone known only as Sergio wins the coveted prize: the Lambo.
It couldn’t have been planned more perfectly. Sergio is, for a reason unknown to me, the crowd’s favourite. They erupt in cheers. Beams of fire emerge from the stage. A child waves an Australian flag in the air.
I hurry out on to the street and call an Uber home, fists full of chocolate bars in my pocket.
