An Accidental Encounter

A few weeks after using that app, when I had pretty much forgotten about the 30 minutes of my life I had wasted on it, I was across town at a bakery getting a mid-afternoon snack before a client meeting nearby. As I walked into the bakery, a woman about my age was rushing out of the building just as I was entering. In her haste, she didn't notice me and we collided. Coffee all over my sports jacket – my only sports jacket – the only thing I had to wear for meeting clients in person. And the meeting today was for a project that would keep me gainfully employed for months!

The woman was upset and apologetic and I felt bad for her, but in the moment, I felt more anger than anything else. As she dabbed at my sleeve and shoulder with a pile of napkins, she asked, “Is there anything I can do? I'm so so sorry!”

Not being in a gracious mood, I snapped, “Well, you could replace my jacket before the meeting I have in 30 minutes.” In any other context, that would just be words spoken in anger, right? Nothing to take seriously. Just trying to make her feel bad.

Well, it seemed I had made her feel bad enough that she immediately ran off. Shit. Now I felt a little crummy.

My mood sufficiently soured, I went inside, ordered my snack, and tried to think about how to explain my unprofessional appearance to my client. A few minutes later, as I made my way out the door, the same woman from earlier came rushing up to me. Wordlessly, she handed me a bag from a nearby men's clothing store.

Confused, I opened the bag to find a replacement jacket.

“I had to guess your size, and the color and style aren't exactly the same, but it was the best I could do,” she blurted.

“Y-You,” I stammered, “You didn't need to do this. I shouldn't have snapped at you, I'm sorry.”

The woman bit her lip and was trying not to look me in the eyes.

“I had to,” she finally said.

“You had to?” I asked. “Why?”

She remained silent.

“Seriously. Tell me why.”

“Because you told me to,” she whispered harshly, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

“What does that mean?”

At this point, I could see tears forming in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she said in a quivering voice, “You're Ron, right? The app said you captured me. I have to do whatever you say. It seems like I can't not do what you tell me to do.”

I squinted my eyes skeptically. “Stand on one foot,” I told her.

She did.

“Cluck like a chicken.”

She did. But anyone could do those things as a prank.

“Take off your shirt,” I ordered. We were in the middle of the sidewalk. It wasn't crowded, but if she did this, people would notice after a few seconds. Even as I was preparing my response for her refusal, she was slowly, with great tears running down her cheeks, gripping the bottom of her blouse and lifting it.

“Please... no...” she begged, her voice so pathetic.