Distinctive Stories

It is a cold day everywhere, but especially on the sidewalk where you are
walking. Ahead of you, you glimpse a man straighten up, look around, and sprint
away like OJ in an airport. He left behind something on the snowy sidewalk. You
rush forward and find -- a wallet.

Now, loads of people would check for cash, then only call out if it's empty, but
be proud, you have morals, don't you? You didn't even think about stealing it.
You are _such_ a good person. Remember that.

You bend over to pick up the wallet, and as you do, you start to yell, “Hey
mister, you dropped your -- " — but as soon as you pick up the wallet, something
happens.

--

You are transported to a room. There's a door. The door opens, just a sliver,
you hear a growl.

And you're like, "Hold up! What just happened??"

You see a bony hand reach into the room.

You hear a whimper. Next to you, there is another person, a stranger.

The stranger says, "oh no, it's coming back." You look at him, and his eyes are
wide with terror, the color from his face drained, tears rained, terror reigned
and it's plain that pain has been tattooed on his brain.

The stranger grabs at you, tries to get the wallet, he said, "Give me the
wallet! Give it back!"

It's not your wallet, you want to give it back, that was the whole point, right?
But, this wasn't the man you saw drop it and you're confused, and you're scared.
So instead, you clutch the wallet close to you and say: "What the hell is
happening?"

--

At the door, the hand reaches in only as far as the light switch - less than a
foot away from the door. It flicks the switch down. The room goes dark. The
now-silhouetted hand retreats, the door closes, and the light under the door
extinguishes.

Immediately the stranger screams. It's loud because he's right there. Right by
your ear, clutching and tearing and grabbing. "Give me the wallet!" He's
surprisingly strong, but you maintain possession of the wallet.

And you hiss, "What is happening?"

You hear another low growl. It's coming from the door. The stranger abandons
accosting you and pushes in behind you, wiggling and whimpering.

You think, "Wait! I just grabbed a wallet! I was trying to help!". You consider
port-keys and practical jokes but this seems pretty real, especially that very
authentic growl not to mention the terrified strange man.

And you can smell the stranger's terror. He begs quietly, "please, please."

It's soft, low, like he's trying to keep back the panic, or convince you there
is nothing to worry about. He says, "it's no big deal, I'm, I'm trying to help
you. You don't want that wallet. It's trouble."

You agree with that, but overall the stranger doesn't convince you. You keep
hold of the wallet. Then the stranger changes tactics, "What kind of person are
you?"

It's a question you often ask yourself.

You begin to answer the stranger, but what happens next takes away the words you
were about to say.

Takes away the words
Packages up the words.
(In a box)
Seals the box air-tight
Ships said airtight-box to an address on Key Largo owned by a millionaire
demolitions expert who takes the entire box, sealed-words and all, and drops
them into a hole the size of a ICBM silo. He blasts your words to Kingdom Come!

Another way to say it (In other words): you have no words. (No words.)

--

You have no words because at this moment, the door bursts open, the light comes
back on, and in the moment where your eyes are still adjusting to the bright
light, you glimpse a big hairy object bounding toward you. You are rooted in
place, you smell it's breath before you feel it's bite. It's breath smells like
burning hair. You can feel the weight of it on you, hear the cccc-chomping, the
mmm-munching, and you think, "It doesn't hurt; why doesn't it hurt?"

--

The reason it doesn't hurt is because the monster is not biting you. No, it's
biting the screaming, wiggling stranger behind you.

Uh, eewwww, not biting so much as eating, actually. Ellhhll.

The stranger's screams suddenly stop with a sickening gurgle that fades as his
life gives way. And just like that, you're back on the sidewalk, looking down on
the wallet in the snow. It is still cold, and there is still a breeze. But you
are sweating.

You see the man you saw before, the one who had the wallet before you, the one
who is still sprinting, but is now a block away. Instinctively, you pick up the
wallet again, intending to return it. I mean, in reality, you _really are_ a
good person. Remember that.

But, as before, the moment you pick up the wallet, you are suddenly transported
back to that same creepy room, same monster, same stranger, same
hair-burning-smell-of-fear. The stranger is alive again, and he grabs at you
immediately, "give it to me, trade with me, I can't do it again."

But the light goes out, then back on, the monster returns, attacks the stranger,
eats the stranger, and soon you're back on the street, now soaked to the skin,
looking down at the wallet.

You shake your head and say, out loud, "Sorry stranger. Not gonna help."

You look both ways on the snowy sidewalk; there are other people around,
hurrying along, braced against the wind chill. You glance down at the wallet,
lying there peacefully, then you... sprint away, like OJ in an airport, leaving
the wallet behind in the snow the same way that last guy did.

Behind you, you hear a young woman holler, "Hey mister -- you've dropped your
--" but she doesn't finish.

And you know why she doesn't finish.

You sprint for a block, stop and look back. There, in that spot, looking down at
that wallet, is the stranger you saw get eaten. Twice.

As you watch the stranger sprint away, you briefly consider going back to help
the young woman. But, no. You don't. You tell yourself, "Next time. Next time
I'll go help."

And you realize that while you and that stranger escaped that room, neither of
you escaped the fact that, when it matters, we choose ourselves.

There are situations where laughter is not just inappropriate, it’s _tactically
unsound_. Maybe you're at a funeral and the priest is saying something heartfelt
and the word "moist" pops into your head and you're just doomed.

Or maybe you’re crouched behind a hedge, hiding, because aliens in a glowing
saucer are harvesting your neighbors. You're crouched there with your family,
praying that no one will make a noise and alert the aliens when you suddenly
remember the time your teacher bent over to pick up chalk and ripped his pants
all the way down to his Spongebob underwear.

You stifle the laugh, which then sounds like you're grunting and the aliens are
all like "What's that?".

In a case like that, laughter is definitely not the best medicine.

Also, at 2am. At 2am when you're significant other is sleeping. 2am when you
also should be sleeping and most definitely not scrolling through funny videos.

It started innocently, as most catastrophes do: It was 2am, I couldn't sleep, so
I thought I’d check the final score of the basketball game that was at half-time
when I went to bed. So I did. And then, after that, (quiet down) I thought:
"maybe just one harmless scroll through my social media to 'get sleepy.'"

(Earnest) Within thirty seconds the Algorithm had me by the brain stem and, it
happened, (lull, tense) a post got me. I couldn't even hear it -- I had the
audio off -- but I didn't even need to.

(Medium)
It wasn't a full laugh. Not even a proper laugh. Just a quiet little "heh". The
laugh you make when you are in bed with your significant other and she's trying
to sleep.

(Earnest) Next to me in bed, my significant other stirred. Just a small shift of
weight. A tiny movement. (Lull) But in the dark, at two in the morning, that
movement was the equivalent of a bear opening one eye.

--

Have you been here before? No longer scrolling for entertainment. Now you are
defusing a bomb.

I froze. Slipped my phone under the covers. Breathing shallow, even. My posture
that of a man who is absolutely asleep and has never been awake in his entire
life. If there were an Olympic event for "pretending you were not just laughing
at something on the internet when you should be sleeping," I would have medaled.

Then, she shifted again.

Now, I want to be clear: my girlfriend is not a light sleeper. She’s a
_reasonable_ sleeper. She can sleep through storms, sirens, and most of my
opinions.

But we were prepared by Evolution to wake at certain sounds. E.g. a baby crying,
the growl of a wolf; and someone trying to stifle a laugh.

After a moment, she relaxed. I waited a beat more, then slowly pulled out my
phone.

The Algorithm, sensing weakness, piled on.

The very next post: I Loled. I Stifled; but stifling transfers the energy
normally used to laugh into heaving movements that shake beds like lovers in the
throes of climax. And it's _funny_ that the bed is shaking when you earnestly
don't want it to. It's _funny_. And because it's _funny_, it all just spirals
out of control.

I pressed my lips together so hard I could have sealed a submarine hatch. That
didn't work, so I shoved part of my pillow into my mouth.

My girlfiend tilted slightly toward me.

Now my brain began to generate worst-case scenarios the way it does when it’s
supposed to be sleeping.

- Worst-case scenario #1: She wakes up, sees me on my phone, and becomes
  understandably annoyed.
- Worst-case scenario #2: She wakes up, sees me with a pillow in my mouth, and
  calls an exorcist.
- Worst-case scenario #3: Well, I didn't come up with a third one. Let's be
  real, no one is making it past number two.

I will say, explaining the pillow-in-the-mouth is probably an easier task than
trying to explain a funny meme to someone who just woke up. You can’t. The
moment you start describing it, the humor evaporates. It's like trying to
explain a dream.

"No, see… it’s like… the cat is… hahaha... edited to look like… and then the
music is… never mind."

See? You sound insane.

But, once again, my girlfriend did not wake all the way up.

And so I did what gamblers do right before they lose their mortgage. And the
next meme was funnier than the last one and I might as well have been listening
to a John Mulaney comedy special at concert volume while jumping on a
trampoline.

She lifted her head toward me and looked like she was going to say "What are you
laughing about?" but then realized it wasn't worth it.

I clicked off my phone and held perfectly still. In the pitch dark, I couldn't
tell if she was still looking at me, but I was aware that I was still holding
the contraband.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then she exhaled, and I know that exhale. I put the phone down, finally
realizing the lesson, such as it is, that:

Some comedy is a particular kind of comedy and it only exists because it’s
inappropriate. The forbidden giggle. The joke you are not supposed to laugh at.
It’s sometimes terrible, morally speaking, maybe inappropriate, and also it's
the best.

My dog is trying to get me arrested. Maybe she’s mad at me? Or figures five
years in the state pen means the fridge and bed are all hers? I dunno.

It was just after dark and we were walking back from bird-watching at the
sanctuary near my house. She's sniffing, sniffing, ... sniffing. Then, she
stops and breaths deeply of some important aroma near someone's mailbox. She
_needs_ to sniff this spot. Badly. And whatever, it's her walk, if she prefers
less walk and more stand and sniff, be my guest.

But that's when it happened.

Something moved in the window we were standing in front of, catching my
attention. I looked up and --

And my movement triggered a motion sensor, and I was suddenly bathed in light.
The big burly guy eating dinner with his family on the other side of that window
looked up and our eyes met. At first it appeared he was going to wave, so I
waved; even as I thought "Why am I waving? Don't wave. Don't wave!".

Then, and I saw it happen in real time, in slow motion. The tilt of the burly
guy's head as he starts to think, "hey wait, why is this guy standing out front,
watching us eat dinner?"

I of course was doing no such thing! We were only out after dark because it was
had been hot lately. I was only wearing binoculars because we had been
bird-watching! We were only standing there, in that spot, because Jasmine
prefers to sniff only things directly outside of brightly lit windows in the
hopes of framing me.

I tugged on Jasmine's leash. I growled, "Come on!" but she didn't budge.

I saw the burly guy rise from his chair, which means I was still looking in his
window! Dammit. I didn't mean to, honest. I said, "Let's go" and Jasmine
relented. We trotted off in a fast-walk that shouted, "Who me? I wasn't spying
on you! Just out for a walk here!"

Sigh.

Then it happened again the next night in front a different house, and twice in
the next week on a whole other block. Then at two different homes on the same
night the following Monday and stupidly, _again_ at the burly guy's house on
Thursday.

Friday came, and I noticed all those different people who I accidentally peeped
in on during the last week were together. They were all sitting at burly guy's
table, discussing something. It looked suspiciously like they were forming an
association or neighborhood watch.

All because of my dog!!

So, we trotted home and I pulled out my laptop and hacked together a quick
script that pulled in three separate APIs and mapped out different routes near
my house, weighted toward neighborhoods with sidewalks and houses with people
who weren't about to file a complaint about me.

When I was out the next night, trying one of my new routes, I spotted Barry from
the block behind my house. Barry is easily recognizable even in the dark. I was
going to ask him if he'd heard any rumors about some new neighborhood watch, but
when he spotted me, he crossed the street.

The day after that, at the grocery store, I spotted Carlene from three doors
down. She was at the other end of the baking aisle, saw me and turned her cart
and hurried the other way.

I wondered, "Are my neighbors avoiding me?... Nah, I'm probably imagining
things."

But then the day after that, I was buying a pint of ice cream at the Quick Stop
Corner Store down the road, and Jonathan the clerk gave me the stink eye. So, I
asked, "Hey, what's going on?"

Jonathan's all like, "What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on. Tank
Jackson said you'd been creeping around his place, watching him and his family
eat dinner."

I said, "Why would I -- No, that's insane. I wouldn't -- It's just a
misunderstanding. I was out walking Jasmine and he saw me, that's all."

Jonathan sighed and said, "Dude, ten other families have the same story; the
Coopers, Ben Foster, Donovan from over on Cherry Lane!"

I said, "It's not me, it's my dog!"

"Your dog? Right."

"No, hear me out. We walk at night, when it's cool, but she always wants to
sniff right outside people's windows. She's setting me up!"

"Dude, if you think you're dog is scheming against you, you're as crazy as they
say you are."

"I'm not crazy. People think Jasmine is innocent because she's a dog. For God's
sake she's free to pee right out in public with people watching and no one
cares. If I did that, people would complain."

And Jonathan said, "Now you want to pee outside people's windows?"

How was I losing this argument?!?

I said, "No, of course I don't want to pee outside --"

"Tank said you had binoculars."

"We were bird watching! I wasn't looking in anybody's window."

"Tank said you waved."

"Okay, yeah, I guess that means -- but I mean, he saw me, I saw him. I was
trying to be friendly. Besides, let's not forget, he saw me, too."

"Dude, he was looking _out_ through his window. You were looking in! He's
supposed to do that! You're not."

"I'm not saying he's not allowed. Look, if Tank doesn't want to be seen, he
shouldn't sit inside at night with lights on and curtains open!"

As I said that, I thought, "did I just say that?" Ehhh.

I've heard it said that one out of five people is a complete and total moron and
if you have four smart friends, that means it's you. You're the moron. I must
have four smart friends. Also, I'm no longer allowed at the Quick Stop Corner
Store. And not only that, but the entire neighborhood closes their curtains now.
Which is kind of what I wanted, but they're only doing it because of me and that
really pisses me off!

Anyway, last night, we walked down another of my newly scripted routes, one I
thought would be perfect. Near my house, down an overgrown dirt road adjacent to
the sanctuary. At the end is a dark, abandoned house. It's straight out of an
ax-murder's wet dream. I'm scared just looking at this house through binoculars
from a block away. But -- all the windows are boarded up tight. It's perfect.

So, tonight we were out walking and what does Jasmine do? She stops right in
front of the boarded-up window and starts sniffing.

I was wrong. She's not trying to get me arrested. My dog is trying to get me
killed.

Sean changes plans, goes rogue, and upsets the status quo. (**Series Finale**)

--

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean is in an uncomfortable position. Laying on a dead body, hiding from the killers, in the back of a military rig, bouncing over the desert; all the while changing plans with the help of the Computronium.

--

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean and Anna go for the element of surprise against the Arcana and The Undersecretary.  But it is they who are surprised.

--

If you liked this recording, and want to help me out, please share the public podcast with a friend. You can share my Instagram post to your story, retweet my latest tweet, or share the web page.  You can find me on Tw/IG as @dist1nc7ive. Thank you!

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean has caught up with his friends, and his enemies, turncoats who appear to want to help him. Now, he has to figure out why, and what to do with the answers he's given.

--

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean's lives in moments, caught between slices of life and "Being Overcome", and seems to be a part of a cross-country road trip. He doesn't understand, even though 999, 79 and 208 patiently explain everything to him. And then...

--

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean breaks. The blackouts are coming so often that he no longer knows most of what is going on, and right at the moment when he needs more than ever to know what is going on.

--

If you liked this recording, and want to help me out, please share the public podcast with a friend. You can share my Instagram post to your story, retweet my latest tweet, or share the web page.  You can find me on Tw/IG as @dist1nc7ive. Thank you!

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive

Sean needs help.  SeventyNine tries to get it for him, but it's not at all what Sean expects.

--

If you liked this recording, and want to help me out, please share the public podcast with a friend. You can share my Instagram post to your story, retweet my latest tweet, or share the web page.  You can find me on Tw/IG as @dist1nc7ive. Thank you!

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Show: https://dist1nc7ive.com/ | Creator: https://hansanderson.com | Contact me on Instagram - @dist1nc7ive or Twitter - @dist1nc7ive