Have to vent: Been a member since 1998; have had a total loss (my fault) and a fender bender. Nothing since 2005. My experiences with USAA were phenomenal. I felt protected and taken care of.
Our jeep wrangler got some bad damage to the paint during a dust storm in Death Valley. We submitted a claim. We received a $4800 check to pay for the paint repairs for a full body paint. They send us to caliber collision. Caliber laughs at us and says no. We, not USAA, find another shop that works with USAA claims. We drop off the car in early March. The shop keeps trying to contact USAA via both email and phone. No reply until THIS Monday. All of a sudden I receive a text from USAA, stating that the car is totaled, followed by a text from a towing company. They offer $9000 for a 1998 jeep wrangler, all original parts, with less than 140,000 miles. No body damage, no accidents, just paint.
Obviously, this was unacceptable to us on multiple levels. I asked the rep how she got to $4800. She says that nobody ever saw the car; they looked at photos. I then asked if she could provide a body shop that would paint for $4800. She could not provide one.
USAA has gladly taken my money since 2000. Where are you now? You have lost another longtime member.

Hello, InsurancePanda Community!
Navigating the world of car insurance can sometimes feel like solving a puzzle. Today, we're breaking down the typical car insurance policy to help you understand exactly what you're paying for and how you can benefit from each part. Whether you're a first-time buyer or looking to refresh your knowledge, this guide is for you!
1. Declaration Page

• What it is: This is essentially the cover page of your policy, listing the policyholder's name, address, the policy number, coverage dates, and basic details of vehicles covered.
• Why it's important: It summarizes your coverage and is your go-to for verifying that all information is correct and as expected.

2. Coverage Types

• Liability Coverage: This is mandatory in most states and covers damages to other people's property and injuries if you’re at fault in an accident.
  • Bodily Injury Liability covers medical expenses, lost wages, and legal fees of other drivers and passengers.
  • Property Damage Liability covers repairs to other vehicles or property you damage.
• Collision Coverage: Pays for damage to your car from a collision with another vehicle or object, regardless of who is at fault.
• Comprehensive Coverage: Covers damage to your vehicle caused by almost anything other than a collision, including theft, fire, vandalism, and weather events.

3. Premiums and Deductibles

• Premium: The amount you pay, typically monthly or annually, to keep your insurance active.
• Deductible: The amount you pay out of pocket before your insurance covers the remaining costs in a claim.
• Tip: Higher deductibles generally lower your premiums, but ensure the deductible is affordable for your budget.

4. Policy Limits

• What they are: The maximum amount your insurer will pay in the event of a claim.
• Tip: Opting for higher limits can provide better protection but will increase your premium.

5. Exclusions

• What they are: Specific situations or damages not covered by your policy.
• Common examples: Intentional damage, using your car for commercial purposes without proper coverage, or mechanical failures.

6. Additional Benefits (Endorsements)

• Roadside Assistance: Offers services like towing, flat tire changes, and jump-starts.
• Rental Reimbursement: Covers the cost of a rental car while your vehicle is being repaired under a covered claim.

7. Understanding Claims

• Process: In the event of an accident, you’ll contact your insurer to file a claim. An adjuster will assess the damage, determine fault, and your insurer will issue payment based on your coverage and limits.
• Tip: Keep detailed records and photos of any incidents to streamline the claims process.

Questions or More Info? If you have specific questions or need clarification on your policy, don't hesitate to ask here or contact an InsurancePanda agent directly. We're here to help make insurance easy and understandable!
Your Experience Share your experiences with using your car insurance in the comments below. Did you find the claims process straightforward? Any tips for fellow policyholders?

I [F18] recently learned to drive, passing my test on my second attempt in September 2023. Now, I wouldn’t say I am a particularly bad driver- but i’m definitely not the best. But aren’t we all when we’re younger?
Anyway, to get to the point, I wear glasses, and on this particular week, I had broken my glasses- and decided to stupidly continue to drive despite my vision not being perfect, however in my defence I did have an appointment to get them fixed the next day. My mum happens to have a work meeting, so I offer to drop my brother off at the barbers, as she had no time. I had parked on double yellows to quickly drop my brother off as we were late, and after letting him out I decided to move my car. (bad decision) I began to move out onto the road, when a car quickly comes speeding down the tight gap between me and a car also parked on the double yellow lines. Against my better judgment (don’t ask- i’m not sure why I did this) I decided to try to also move through this small space, despite not being in any form of rush. Suddenly, I hear a large bang and the scrape of metal, to which I grimace at, realising I had just bumped into the parked car beside me. After a full-scale (albeit over the top) panic attack ensued, I called my mum to ask her to help me leave a note on the car. A month passes by, and I feel like a moral, (very lucky) person to have never been contacted by the owner of the car! I began to assume that they had just not cared, or simply decided to pay the cost of the damage themselves, but to my eventual dismay, they had in fact not. My stomach drops as I read the message on the screen from my mum: “The person whose car you hit called.”
Now, I know it sounds selfish, but as a student working a crappy part time job, the feeling of not having a huge amount of my savings taken by this stupid mistake did feel very refreshing, but I knew that it was my fault. I had to pay eventually. We organised with the owner that they would get a quote for the damage, and I prepared myself for the worst, waiting weeks for the invoice.
Whilst the time passed, out on a drive, my mum had seen the car I had scraped. To her surprise, an EXTREMELY large dent and long white scrape had appeared on the car, which was not the damage I had caused. I came to the sudden realisation that I. Never. Took. A. Picture. of the damage that I had caused. My mind flooded with panic, terrified that this would be pinned on me somehow, terrified I would have to foot the bill, terrified I would have to claim on my already expensive insurance policy.
Today he called. “£900”, my mum messaged. NINE HUNDRED POUNDS. HOW WOULD I EVER PAY NINE HUNDRED POUNDS? Now, the scrape I left was noticeable, but NOT that noticeable! A small debate ensued, and my mum questioned the owner on: “why on earth the quote was so extremely high?” and to my surprise, we were instantly met with: “Well, to be reasonable I would be willing to settle with £450.”
I was confused. Why was he willing to reduce the cost so readily? And then it hit me, just like how I hit the car I guess. He had to have been quoted for the other damage on his car! I had no proof, no evidence to back up the fact that I had only caused the small amount of damage located on his back wheel arch, and I decided to accept the consequences of my actions.
As I saw the 450 pounds leave my account, I realised that this would be a lesson (a very expensive lesson at that) to ALWAYS document and have proof of your actions in the event of an accident- so that you don’t end up overpaying for damages like I did.
TL;DR I hit a car, didn’t take photo evidence of the damage I caused and overpaid for other damage they had done to their car.

Warning this is a long one. If anyone has seen Gilmore Girls, please picture my grandma as Emily Gilmore because I seriously don't know how they were able to capture my grandma so accurately.
This morning, I (22f) had what feels like a huge blow out with my grandma (74f) over text this morning. For a big background, I am my grandmas only living descendant. My birth mother died when I was 3 in a car accident, and she was my grandmas only child. My mother struggled with bipolar disorder and was in an abusive marriage with my father. After she died my grandparents attempted to get full custody of me and the result was visitation under grandparent rights. The court petition is available online and can be found by searching my full name, which is so great for me. Obviously, there was bad blood between my grandparents and my father. I grew up in the middle, scared to show that I loved my grandparents but also slightly distrusting of them because the stories they would tell me were different than what my father would.
I have tried to set boundaries with my grandma in the past. She calls me by my dead moms name occasionally. I ask her not to, she still slips up and does. She's inviting me to go to my moms grave, I don't feel comfortable doing that. She makes me feel guilty about no one putting flowers on their graves when they die. She's convinced I'm bi-polar despite me having been tested 3 times and being diagnosed as not bipolar. She will make passive aggressive comments about not only my but my boyfriend (23M) of 4 years weight and stretch marks. I've told her that we both struggle with eating disorders. After graduating I went from being 120lbs at 5'7 (underweight) to being 190lbs (overweight) in 4 years, some of the weight gain was healthy then the past year and a half I've put on the majority of it, becoming unhealthy. The past year and a half I have also had severe mental health struggles. I have ADHD, depression, and anxiety. I struggle to do a lot of basic things. I was seeing a therapist but then my insurance changed so I am trying to find someone new. I am on medication. I am actively getting help.
My grandma will call me 20 times in a day regularly. She'll text me more than that. When I haven't answered she has called my boyfriend at his job. She will harass my boyfriend and demand to know what I do every hour of everyday, despite him being at work apparently he's my babysitter. It is negatively impacting our relationship because he feels he's being forced into a parent role. She ruined a job interview for me one time because she wouldn't stop calling during it. I am terrified for her to show up unannounced. Luckily we live 4 hours away from each other, so I think I have a safe enough buffer. However, every weekend for the past month she has been trying to come and stay for the weekend.
Now on to the main confrontation/issue. My grandmas mom, my great grandma, offered to give me 1k a month so I could focus on finishing my degree (after this semester I have a semester & then a class left.) My only condition was that I focused on school. This morning my boyfriend sent me a text that said I needed to talk to my grandma as they were withdrawing their financial support. He sent me screenshots of their texts, I am going to transcribe them best I can without making this post too long. I feel like its getting long already lol.
GM to BF: We'll pay for her therapy. She needs talk & medicine. Her psychiatrist should do both. But the monthly 1k, so she doesn't have to work while she's getting the rest under control hasn't helped her. I'm afraid it has given her too much time alone, which is bad for her. I've worried that helping her not to have to work was a bad idea. She does much better with interaction. Maybe encourage her to come over, or take a trip with me during the next 3 weeks (my summer classes start). She needs interaction. She was much better in high school because she was so involved.
BF to GM: Will do, she has been looking at getting a summer job.
GM: Doing the monthly may be hurting more than helping. She wasn't even successful with her classes, even without the outside job. I THINK she would do things if she was here. Crafts, cards, all the extended family. Right now we're just paying her to stay home and read. I don't think the 1k will continue. It was for her to do her classes without having to work through December.
BF: I'd text her and mention that. You should talk to her SPECIFCALLY about losing the 1k.
GM: But it didn't work so why would we still do it? Classes were supposed to be her job. She completed 10 of 18 hours. She didn't do her weekly progress reports and didn't send us her finals. Never once. If that was her "job" paying her weekly, and anyone else as her boss, would she still have that job?
BF: I don't have that answer. I can't speak for her on those things.
GM: You know the answer is no. This is not helping her. This is a face to face conversation. Her story is not what I know to be the truth as I related to you.
GM: I know she lost her scholarship and just isn't telling us. I'm sure she's not proud of it. I told you earlier, that I knew she was in a bad place. That was when I needed to help her. Not after it was too late. She just said there was a cap on the amount of scholarship and she's used it. She's getting a student loan to finish. I'm proud of her for doing that instead of asking us. BUT, what I've pieced together is what I said earlier. And her loan is because she has to pay back the scholarship and tuition going forwards. Right now is the best time for her to transfer(to a college where she lives.) I knew we were in trouble when she sent me a photo of a stack of books she checked out from the library. I had zero time to read books when I was a college student, and I didn't have a job in addition.
BF: While that may be true, you also were in different classes. It's good for her to have time to do things she likes when she's not in class.
GM: I had a social life with other people. I did not stay isolated. She does well with others. Alone drags her down. Just like her mom. A powerhouse when she's involved. Depressed and anxious when she's alone. She's become totally reliant on you. She's lost her independence and drive. I know its flattering you want to be her savior, but for different reasons, its crippling for both of you.
BF: I don't want to be her savior. I really don't.
GM: Rescuer
BF: I really want more than anything for her to be self reliant so we can both lean on each other. I just know at the end of the day I will always support my girl.
GM: That's best but she has to let go & stand up. Develop a broader network to build strength, You are her core! Like a center pole in a tent. Now she needs the other stakes to have the support.
I took 14 credit hours this semester and I only dropped 1 class that was 2 credit hours because I could take it in the summer and lighten my load. I passed all my other ones with As & Bs. I misspoke to my grandma about my scholarship. I told her it was 5k and then I was out but in actuality it was 20k, 5k per semester not total. I've used 4700 so far. That still doesn't explain why she thought I had lost it but ya know. I see my friends at minimum once a week. I have 6 close friends I regularly see. I text with them daily. I grab dinner with them. I game online with them. I attend class 2 times a week. I only see my boyfriend 2 nights a week and on Sundays, and we LIVE together.
My grades conveniently became available online at the same time this conversation was sent to me. So I took a screenshot of my grades and sent them to my grandma.
OP to GM: Here are my grades. I also sent them to grandpa. Thanks so much for believing in me, not. You are the last person I want to see or talk to right now. BF showed me everything. When I am read to talk I'll let you know.
GM to BF: I cannot believe you did this. Now she is furious with me & won't talk to me. I told you that in confidence. You need to fix this. That's not good things for her to know out of context.
OP to GM: Actions have consequences. The consequence of your action is that I am not speaking to you. If you continue to message BF, I will be blocking you on his phone. Not only today, but previously, has been highly inappropriate. I am NOT a child. I do NOT need babysitting. I do NOT need rescuing by you. You are NOT my savior. Stop trying to be.
GM: *Long message trying to re-explain how the messages were worded.* I told BF you're smart and a powerhouse! I just want to see your independent spirit and get you there again. I am your biggest supporter. You're misinterpreting this.
OP: BF screenshotted everything and sent it to me before I ever said anything to you. I don't know how reading exactly what you have been saying about me is misinterpreting things. Please stop messaging me.
When I was in high school I was awake from 6:00am-2:00am. I was in 10 clubs/sports, all honors classes, I was starving myself, I slept less than 4 hours on average. I was a walking zombie that was living off a strange energy that being starving & sleep deprived creates. I was miserable. I was depressed. I was anxious. I only had time for friends in school. If you didn't have a class or lunch with me, you never talked to me. I struggled with school work at home because my adhd. I was not a powerhouse, I was fighting to survive everyday and I feel like I used up every piece of energy I'll ever have then.
This is where we left off. I feel guilty confronting my grandma about it, and feel like I should apologize. But like I said to my BF after he got upset with me for him being in the middle:
Its an incredibly overwhelming relationship that has baggage older than I am which has been put on me my entire life. It has been like this my whole life, except that until I was 18, I was the middle. I know it's a lot, but this is how she is. She is an intrusive controlling and manipulative person, while it may from from a place of care, she still is those things. Herr loving me and being kind to us does not take away the hurt and pain that she causes me. It is not care and love when there are stipulations to that care and love. She's constantly weaponizing my dead mom's mental illness against me. She wants to send me money so I don't have to work and can focus on school but when that actually helps me then I'm not nearly busy enough for her liking. She's also creating a hostile environment where I can't express if I am struggling because then it'll be "I told you so" and then I'll have to drop out of school because they'll stop providing financial support.
So reddit, AITA for confronting my grandma about her texts to my boyfriend?

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When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*

Hello everyone! As always, thank you for your upvotes and comments on my last post about the Sussex County Jane Doe- I hope that her identity will be given back to her soon.
Today I'd like to highlight a Doe case from a neighbouring state.
TRIGGER WARNING: This case involves a young child (3-5) whose body was found in a gruesome state. There are no graphic images for this case, but there will be descriptions and speculation, so proceed at your own risk.
DISCOVERY
On the 5th of February, a 47-year old nurse, Cecilia Davis, has been walking her dog with a friend at Rockaway Beach (specifically near Beach 112th Street) in New York City, New York, USA, around 4:55 PM. When she was collecting seashells, she noticed a bedsheet with a pattern of letters and Disney characters Mickey Mouse, Goofy and Donald Duck, which was tangled in seaweed, tattered and mixed in with debris and horseshoe crabs. Intrigued, she came closer, only to discover that a body of a young child was wrapped in the fabric- she called out "This is a child!" to her friend, after which the two women called the authorities. The boy was nicknamed "John Valentine" as the investigators tried to find his identity.
When Davis managed to catch a glimpse of the body from shoulders down when she found the bundle, she assumed that the child was a girl, about a year old, whose skin had the color of "aged yellow foam"- after a proper medical examination, it turned out that it was actually a boy, and aged 3-5 at that. One of the child's knees was bent, with his foot tucked under his body.
The boy was determined to be white and/or Hispanic. He was 3'0" (36 inch / 91 cm), and his weight couldn't be estimated. He had brown, slightly wavy hair, and his eye color was unknown. His foot was size children's 5. Several bones in his torso were broken- I'm not sure, however, if it happened post-mortem or if it could've been a sign of abuse in life (but I have to say, it would be quite likely that he was abused). The body was headless, but it wasn't cut off- it likely detached during the decomposition and got washed away and eaten by marine life. His cause of death is unknown.
The sheet John was found in was called a "blanket", but it would appear that it is actually a crib sheet. The pattern could've been dated back to the 70s, so there's a possibility that it was a hand-me-down or thrifted. It was also mass-produced, so tracking it down was impossible. The body and the sheet were found inside a duffle bag, which was described as "yellow plasticized canvas duffle bag with one side pocket with a snap enclosure. There are multiple grommets for top closure of the duffle bag. No string is present. The bottom of the duffle bag is made of a heavy white canvas. There are 2 approximately 2” wide canvas straps attached to and surrounding the duffle bag. The duffle bag is approximately 30” tall with a top circumference of 34”. The side pocket measures 10 inches wide and 8 inches tall". It was also described as "nautical-style" and was wrapped with duct tape, and might've had a drawstring on top at some point. No known photos of the bag are available, but there are ones of the crib sheet. I'm assuming that the bag must've opened in the water or deteriorated enough to open, revealing the contents.
Due to a lack of leads, police theorized that the boy might've been thrown into the ocean from a boat or overseas and washed up in New York. A local on websleuths theorizes that the child might've been dropped from Atlantic Beach Bridge by Beach 2nd St and taken to Beach 112th St- Apparently, a lot of people drown in the area, and their bodies are taken up to 169th St (Marine Parkway Bridge).
CONCLUSION
Discovering the body of John Valentine has impacted everyone involved. The precinct involved in the investigation collected funds to sponsor the boy's funeral, so that he wouldn't wind up in a Potter's Field. The Children of Hope Foundation also contributed, and now John is resting at the Cemetery of the Holy Rood in Westbury, L.I, in a section called Island of Hope, with (at the time) 80 infants who have been found abandoned or murdered by their mothers at birth. John was one of the older children buried there.
Cecilia Davis, the woman who found John's body at the beach, has passed away from cancer sometime before 2013. According to her sister-in-law, Emilia Arvai, it has impacted Cecilia twice as much, as she wasn't able to have children. She was allegedly never the same after that incident. According to Arvai, Davis would say "How could someone be so cruel to throw a baby away like that when there’s people around the world who can’t have a baby. (...) There’s a million people who would take that baby."
I think that it's pretty much a given that some kind of violence was involved in this case- why else would someone throw away the body of a child? John wasn't an infant or a newborn, he was as old as five, so it wasn't a case of post-partum psychosis or someone giving birth unexpectedly and panicking. The broken bones made my eyebrow raise- if he really was thrown into the water from a high place like a bridge, then I can see bones breaking on impact, but they could've also been a result of physical abuse; We don't really know much about this detail. It's unfortunate that John's head wasn't recovered- it would probably tell us more about him, maybe a bust or a sketch could've been made and circulated and maybe someone would recognize him.
People on websleuths speculated that John might've been Jesus Alvarado Martinez, a four year old who was probably abducted by his father after he killed his mother in Texas in October of 2004. The age and ethnicity fit, as does height, plus Jesus vanished shortly before John was discovered. There is a lot of distance between Texas and New Jersey, but it is technically possible that Jesus' father could get there in the few months between October and February.
There are no dentals available of John (of course), no fingerprints (which might've been erased due to prolonged exposure to water and decomposition) and, suprisingly, no DNA. This case is relatively recent (forensic development-wise)- I'm suprised that no DNA was taken. Perhaps the investigators expected that it will be solved soon? Still, there are good news- thanks to the department's care over the boy, he was buried (and not cremated), and we even know where he is. Digging up the coffin, taking a sample and performing genetic genealogy on it seems to be very possible, and only needing the funds and public interest to re-open the case. I think that if someone like Othram will take the case in, John being identified is a case of "when" and not "if". I have high hopes for young John Valentine getting his name back at some time in the future and, hopefully, that justice will be served to anyone who took his life and discarded his body in the ocean almost 20 years ago.
If you believe you have any info about John Valentine's case, contact the Office of Chief Medical Examiner New York City at (212) 447-2030 (case number Q05-00731).
SORCES:

1. NamUS.gov (includes photos of the crib sheet)
2. doenetwork.org
3. nydailynews.com (paywalled)

John Valentine's websleuths.com thread

Age: 25 Sex: Female Height: 5’3 Weight:120lbs Race: Asian Duration of complaint 1.5 weeks Location Right thumb to half of palm Any existing relevant medical issues: None Current medications: None Include a photo if relevant: N/A
Slight numbness in thumb began randomly. I didn't think much of it and had a few days to rest. However as days passed BOTH numbness and tingling traveled down to half of my palm (posterior but now anterior). Noticeable paresthesia on my abductor pollicis brevis when pressed upon.
I was concerned so I talked to an NP, we did all the carpal tunnel tests and it was negative. She stated typically CT also radiates to two other fingers.
So what could this be? She didn't know either but we never did any further tests. However, Im still concerned.
No other noticeable signs/symptoms. No recent accidents. For work, I do pass out medications often and it's always go-go-go (Emergency department).
Hand feels better with rest but the paresthesia remains.

Photo keeps disappearing, so here’s my other post…
https://www.reddit.com/leopardgeckos/comments/1csm884/does_this_look_like_the_start_of_mouth_rot_o
I noticed a small bump last week, and it got a little bigger so I took her to the vet today. She did bite the tweezers pretty hard by accident when I fed her right before the bump appeared. Rest of her mouth looks fine and healthy, confirmed by vet. He didn’t mention mouth rot at all and suggested adding more variety to her diet besides crickets and mealworms, didn’t say to start antibiotics yet. She’s 9 and I’ve had her for almost 3 years, no issues until now. I’ve read they can get little injuries like this if they bite tongs or tweezers but both the vet and I noticed a little more inflammation around other parts of her mouth that wasn’t there before. She gets calcium dusted food every time she eats and multivitamin dusted once a week. What do you think this is? Should I flush the wound with saline solution? Is there anything I can do to help it heal?

Back in November I had a silly accident on a roundabout where I thought the person in front had gone but they hesitated and I didn’t realise. I stamped the brakes and literally “kissed” the car in front. We exchanged details although there was no damage to her car. She is making a claim even though there was no damage. When you type her private plate into dvla is come up as blue vw T-cross, but the car I hit was a red vw T-roc. There’s been some discrepancies with this claim but my insurance has accepted liability. She didn’t make any claim until March this year. I have no photos to prove no damage to contest or to prove what car I hit. I’m thinking she got new car and transferred her private plate but still had it on old car. I don’t know I just know what I hit and the car registered to the number plate wasn’t it. Any advice please. I have lost my ncb because of it and policy ends soon

Hello everyone, welcome to the third discussion about Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. Hope you studied hard this week, I sure did!

Summary

Previously, in Thinking Fast and Slow, we followed Kahneman and Amos’s academic bromance in the wonderful world of decision making and biases. Our two main characters model two kinds of behavior of the brain. System 1, always on, is the intuitive one, that makes continual judgments and assumptions. System 2 is the slower one, only called when necessary, that produces rational thinking, mathematical reasoning, and is awfully lazy. We learned that even specialists are really bad at intuitive statistics and apply the law of small numbers when they shouldn’t.
Chapter 11: Anchors When we are asked to consider a possible solution to an estimation problem (eg, did Gandhi die after 100 years old?), our answer will be close to this number, like it’s anchored to it. Even when the proposition is obviously unrelated, like with a rigged wheel of fortune. It has many consequences, like with real estate prices and every negotiation. If someone starts one with an absurd price, make a big fuss and stop it until a more reasonable offer.
Both systems cause this behavior. System 1 because of priming (unconscious influence of a previous information). System 2 makes us start at the anchor, and then adjust, often not enough.
Btw, here are the answers to the questions, it annoyed me that they weren’t in the book. Washington became president in 1789. Waters boils at around 70°C/160°F on top of the Everest. Gandhi died at 78 years old.
Chapter 12: Availability We learn about the availability bias. When we are asked to estimate the frequency of an event, our answer depends on how easily we can retrieve examples from our memory. The more dramatic and personal the example is, the more it works. Making people list examples increases the perceived frequency, except when you ask too much. Finding 12 examples of something is hard, and your brain will interpret the cognitive fatigue as a less frequent phenomenon.
Chapter 13: Availability, emotion and risk Our perception of risk is biased by availability and the affect heuristic. If you feel strongly about something negative, you will evaluate the risk as stronger. It’s especially true with very small risks such as terrorism, which our brain is really bad at evaluating (it’s either ignored or given too much weight). And a recent disaster in the news will make us renew our insurance policies. There is a very negative correlation between benefit and risk in the mind of people. This means that if a technology is perceived as highly useful, you will perceive it as less risky, and vice versa.
Kahneman then presents two philosophies about risk assessment and how it affects public policy. There can be availability cascades around public panics such as the Love Canal controversy, fed by media frenzy and politics. Slovic thinks that risk being not objective (it depends on what parameter we prioritize, such as lives or money), the perception of the citizens should never be ignored. Sunstein wants risk experts to rule, because public pressure make the biased lawmakers prioritize the use of tax money inefficiently. Kahneman wisely stays in the middle of this merciless academic scuffle.
Chapter 14: Tom W Tom W is a fictional university student invented by Kahnmos. The goal of the exercise is to guess his specialty. The subjects are told the proportion of the students in each specialty (the base rate, humanities being more probable than STEM), and sometimes a (dubious) psychological profile. He’s described as a nerdy asocial guy who likes bad puns, and if you’re judging him, remember you’re on reddit, so don’t throw any stone here. Most people, even specialists, will infer that Tom studies Computer Science, despite the probabilities given by the base rate, that mean it is more probable for him to study Humanities. It’s because this tells a better story (they choose representativeness instead of base rate. Even if the added information is dubious. Once again, if system 2 is activated (eg by frowning), people will get closer to the base rate.
Kahneman then gives us advice to discipline our faulty intuitions. You just have to use Bayes’s rule and multiply probabilities in your head! Easy. If you cannot do that, I’m sorry you’re an embarrassment to your family and country, but just remember to stay close to the base rate and question the quality of the evidence.
Chapter 15: Linda or less is more Linda is another fictional character created to make us feel bad. She’s described as a left-leaning politically engaged woman. What is more probable, that she’s a bank teller or a feminist bank teller? Most people will choose the second. The problem is that feminist bank tellers are a subset of bank tellers, so there’s less of them (all feminist bank tellers are bank tellers, whereas only some bank tellers are feminist). So it’s mathematically less probable. However, it’s more plausible, tells a causal story, so our System 1 likes it. It’s called conjuction fallacy.
Apparently, Linda caused another controversy in the field of psychology, but Kahneman doesn’t go into details, probably to protect his readers from the gruesome imagery.
Chapter 16 Causes trump statistics We go back to a Tom-like experiment, comparing base rate to other information. When the base rate is neutral, people don’t care about it. But when it is causal and tells a story, the brain will take it into account more. The story (here, it is that a company’s cab cause most of the accidents) creates a stereotype in our head. And in this case, stereotyping helps improving the accuracy of our intuitions.
The author then discusses how to teach psychology to students. He describes the help experiment, where people isolated in booths heard a stooge pretending to die. A minority of people went to help, because of the dilution of responsibility (”someone else can do it!”). When faced to this result, most students accept it but it doesn’t really change their views, in particular of themselves. However, when shown some individuals and their choices, their ideas really evolved. Once again, we suck at statistics and love to make stories from anecdotes. But now we can hack it?
Chapter 17 Regression to the mean Every performance has a random element. That means that if someone has an exceptionally good run, in sports for instance, their results will go down in the future. The opposite is also true. This is called regression to the mean and happens all the time when there is randomness involved. But our brains love causality and will invent a story around it. For instance, this air cadet performed better the second time because I yelled at him, not because of randomness catching up with his bad luck. That’s why we need control groups in every experiment, because many sick people will get better because of time and statistics.

Useful Links

• The Love Canal
• Alar Scare
• Bayesian statistics

You’ll find the questions below, feel free to add your own!

Previous
​
So, if you’re just joining us, I work at a haunted zoo now. Since I’ve gotten some rest, it feels like I’ve got my head on straight, at least, so I’d like to continue where I left off.
I sat on the floor in the office after meeting the ghost until I’d settled my rattled mind (and realized I’d forgotten to ask her name, how rude is that?). I took a deep breath and got up off the floor. Walking over and falling into the rolling chair in front of the large screen of camera views, when I brought up the camera that covered the area in which I’d spotted her, she was still there, and it seemed she hadn’t moved an inch.
Sitting there, at a loss, I continued to watch her. The ghost hung around for another five minutes or so, appearing to look at a few things off-screen, though I’m not sure what. Then she walked off into the forest and left the view of the cameras. I wasn’t sure if she vanished into the ether or if she’d gone looking into the trees to look for something.
But that wasn’t the end of the job interview, so let me jump back there. It continued into what kind of animals the zoo had, with Andrew asking me how much experience I had with dangerous animals.
I took a moment to consider the question. “So, ah…I’ve been going hunting and fishing with a neighbor since I was sixteen,” I told him. “We always have to keep an eye out for gators, bears, and hogs. Then there’s snakes, of course…snapping turtles… Since I’ve lived here my whole life and been aiming for a job with wildlife for a long time, I know a lot about the animals in Arkansas in general. But good advice for all of the above is avoid them, so I’ve had encounters, but I don’t know if you’d say I have experience with them.”
“That’s fine,” Andrew said, nodding. “That’s an answer I’m satisfied with. Now, the ghost was the appetizer, Ripley; here’s the main course. To start with, the pay isn’t twenty-five an hour. It’s fifty.”
Staring in shock for a moment, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. But that’d be weird to post online considering what applicants think we need, so I halved it.”
“That’s… Okay, why?”
“The animals are already here. You just can’t see them.”
I stared at him for a long moment, some disbelief worming its way into my expression, before saying, “Sorry, what?”
“There’s a chance you’d naturally never see them, or at least some of them,” he continued casually. “It depends on both your genetics and how long you stay on the job. I can naturally see six of them, but that’s it. Suzanne can see all of them, and more. Some are what people would label demons or ghosts. Or magic. Mostly you’d call them cryptids. The ghost was just a warm-up; I mentioned her first because it never takes more than a week to see her if you work the night shift. If you manage to handle her okay, soon you’ll be able to see the animals too. The more time you spend on the grounds, for weird reasons,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the direction of the back door, “the more you’ll be able to see.”
“So, this…this is a zoo for cryptids,” I echoed slowly. He nodded once, waiting to find out what kind of reaction I would have. I gestured vaguely around the room. “If this is a hidden camera show, will you cut me a check for showing up and participating?”
Andrew coughed out a chuckle and shook his head. “No joke. There are a ton of stories out there that have been written to death, pulverized until they’re not the Grimm stories of old and instead they’re Disney films. A lot of those stories come from what some humans have seen. There are dozens of other worlds pressed up against ours, and occasionally things come through by accident. If they’re smart, they’ll lay low and then make their way back when they can. If not, they become local folklore until someone helps them back. I’m just from London, but Suzanne is from somewhere else. She hires people like us for this zoo. Humans.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Why would she hire a muggle for a magic zoo?”
Andrew burst out laughing at that, and then waited to gather himself before he continued. “Fair point, but this is less about magic and more about animals, and you’re missing some information that will explain it. First of all, if I misjudge an employee, and they think they can make bank by outing the endangered and valuable animals we have, it’s easy to relocate the zoo.”
“Because magic?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied, ignoring the thread of skepticism in my tone. “That means it isn’t the end of the world if that happened, though it is a pain in the arse. But second…let me ask you a question. Speaking of reality shows, say the Discovery Channel put out a call to replace Steve Irwin when he passed. Imagine they had a line out the door,” he said with a gesture, “of people who thought they had the skill and natural talent to replace him, to take on everything he’d been doing his whole life. How many do you reckon would lose an arm, a leg, or their life, by the end of the day?”
My lips parted in surprise and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re saying people from…wherever…they’re just as dumb as humans, but they’re worse, because they actually think they can handle these things.”
Andrew pointed the pen at me. “Things. Exactly. You called them things. Suzanne and her friends grew up with them and would call them animals. These animals have dispositions and temperaments that we’ve studied for as long as there have been scientists. Where Suzanne’s from, they know the weaknesses of these animals, and also they’re in enclosures here, even if you and I can’t see the walls because they’re invisible things called ‘wards’. If I hire someone who’s got magic on top of all that, they’ll have almost no instinctive fear.
“Everything here is nocturnal, and every one of them is a hunter. Some of these things? Humans see them and they pass out. Not that I want you passing out, but I need someone who is scared of these things, who knows to stay out of the enclosures no matter what. Not someone who thinks they can train them to do tricks, who gets close enough for them to grab a mouthful of hair and drown them. Once, we had a night shift manager injured, and once killed, because they didn’t take these animals seriously enough.”
Thinking back to the Sea World orca incident I knew he’d been referencing, I remembered wondering how someone at that level of her profession could be so careless as I watched the video on YouTube. It made sense when he explained it like that. I hesitated before mentally throwing my hands up and going all in. “So, why put this place here, then? If they’re endangered and also dangerous, why have a zoo at all instead of just a small reserve?”
He pursed his lips, looking disappointed in me. “Ripley. You know that already. You already said as much.”
Thinking back through our conversation, I said, “The rich humans who pay top dollar to see supernatural animals.”
“Not humans,” he told me. “But people, yes, and they are rich, and they’re making donations and spending their money on a ticket here because everything we have is endangered.”
“So…”
I just let my voice trail off and my mind started to drift. Andrew remained silent, letting me do so. There’s that thing people say, ‘I believe that you believe it,’ which is just a kinder way of saying, ‘Bullshit.’ Parents say it about closet monsters. Psychologists say it to people who say they’ve been abducted and probed by aliens. I wanted to say it to Andrew.
But I also wanted a job. If it meant working overnight at an empty zoo, that was fine. When it came down to it, especially when I took the tone of our conversation into account, this was a zoo specifically focused on preserving endangered ‘animals’, and it was allegedly doing important work. Also, if this turned out to be the real deal and I started seeing the animals, I would deal with it, just like I would deal with an enclosure that had a lion or tiger or gorilla. If it came with a ghost and invisible creatures, I really didn’t see what the difference was, if I couldn’t go in the enclosures either way.
On that note, I’d like you to imagine a kid who looks at a roller coaster, watching everyone screaming and grinning as they go up and down and all around and they’re like, ‘Heck, I could do that! That looks like a blast!’
Then they get on, the first drop hits, and they realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.
“All right,” I sighed. “I can’t say I’m going to turn down a job just because it’s going to be scary. Especially not one with this paycheck.”
Andrew smiled. “Awesome. There’s an adjustment process for anyone working here, similar to a dog that gets adopted, actually. I know the general guidelines of, ‘three days, three weeks, three months’ in terms of milestones, until they finally feel they’re where they’re supposed to be,” he told me, “and you can think of your time here along those lines. I really think you’re a great fit, and once you reach the milestone of working here for three months, I’ll officially consider you our new night shift guard. And I hope you’ll stay with us for many years.”
I nodded and smiled at the flattery of an employer wanting me to work a great job for them for a long time. I’d never had a dog, but those milestones were well-known among anyone who knew animals, especially dogs. The first three days, the dog is getting to know its new digs, exploring, and decompressing. At three weeks, they’ve gotten used to their environment and are starting to get comfortable with their surroundings and the routines of the humans they live with. By three months, they know the rules and follow them, they trust you, and they feel they are where they’re meant to be. I could only hope to be so lucky.
I saw the ghost two days ago and she has yet to make another appearance (for those who are curious, I asked, and her name is Leila), and I still hadn’t seen any animals. I did hear one, though, I feel compelled to note. A growling roar sounded from the lake on occasion, echoing across the vast zoo, sending a shiver down my spine. Whatever that animal was, it sounded gigantic.
Andrew said there was apparently a group that wanted to visit for a birthday and they were offering a huge donation, so he let me know they were making an exception and that this group would be walking through the park that night. That meant I’d be watching people watching animals that, as far as I could tell, weren’t there.
It was anticlimactic. Even the three people who came for the tour just looked like people, not like aliens or something eldritch from another dimension, and I stayed in the security office the whole time. Andrew was the one giving the tour. I watched them spend about five minutes at each enclosure, the hour or so that they were there passing without incident. It was clear that they were able to see all the animals, though, since they motioned excitedly at each enclosure and spoke to Andrew, who presumably answered any questions they had.
If they could see the animals, that was that. There was still that niggle in the back of my head, from my twenty-three years of life never encountering anything like ghosts or cryptids, telling me that this was ridiculous. Waiting for someone to knock on the door, a camera mounted on their shoulder, to tell me that it was a big joke and they wanted to see how long I’d play along. But from all I saw, this was a real place with real, invisible animals.
I do carry a taser and pepper spray in my capacity as a security guard. Though it isn’t for the animals, since they’re in the enclosures; they’re actually for the rare instance of a break-in. Andrew mentioned that it had happened several times it the past, someone trying to steal an animal in the hopes of selling it on the black market. They’d been successful before, but apparently my predecessor Roger was good at his job, and mostly they left in handcuffs.
I’ll be honest, I’m not a huge fan of confrontation, but my job was to call Andrew and then confront the person, not kick their ass. That’s what the police were for, or rather, the people Andrew would call in lieu of police in certain situations.
Fifty bucks an hour. That’s the key here.
Andrew hadn’t set up direct deposit, since he was sticking with a strategy of waiting to see if I’d continue to work there once I found out myself dealing with the animals (I’ve decided I am going to just call them animals). Instead, I got an old-fashioned check after my shift every Friday. The number on the first check was delightful. I went out that evening and had a big dinner at the local diner, order my most expensive favorites on the menu and a big slice of pie for dessert.
When it came to the paychecks in general, though, I had this weird feeling of not wanting to tell my dad and brother about the fact that it was actually $50/hr. I previously mentioned that my dad, his name’s Nathan if you’re curious, works at a local grocery store. Our town has a couple food franchises, but I think its size is just short of whatever threshold Walmart uses to decide where to open. He earns $14/hr. and that’s after the tiny raises he’s gotten over the past thirteen years.
That’s not to say he’d feel bad about not making as much as me. On the contrary, he would be ecstatic for me and really proud. But, like me, he’d be suspicious. That hourly rate was the biggest hint that this was more than just a private zoo for cryptids. And as soon as that fat check cleared without problems, my dad wouldn’t be satisfied with reassurances; he’d want to come visit the zoo and look around.
I’d told him it’s a private preservation with scheduled (expensive) visits only and that it had only eleven animals, so he’d been appeased by me brushing off the idea of a visit. Also, I took a few photos of my workplace; one of the security room, one of me sitting in my chair, one photo of the many screens I watched, and a selfie where I was feigning sleep out of boredom, slouched in my chair with my mouth open in a faux snore. That let him feel like he knew where I was and what I was doing, and that I was safe.
But if I told him I was making double what he thought, my father would practically order me to quit. No job was worth my safety, he’d tell me. I was quite of the opposite opinion, however, considering how crucial any and all conservation efforts were these days. Especially with the steep extinction levels due to humans competing with other animals for space, not to mention climate change. Working in any job that helped preserve species and keep ecosystems in balance, or put them back in balance, was so important.
Then again, my father would also point out something I had realized right away: the fact was that I was working with endangered species that were not from Earth. I wasn’t helping my planet. To be honest, though…that didn’t matter to me. Especially after that talk with Andrew about why he hired a human for this job, I figured whichever dimension these animals came from had the equivalent of us, razing forests to the ground, clouding the planet with pollution, and leaving the animals with no avenue of recourse when yet more land was taken from them.
I really do hope to keep working here for a long time, though, and not just because of the money. I can’t help it; I want to know what these things were, and I want to work with them, to do the job of a zookeeper. The same way you go up to the chain-link fence to get close to a carnivore on the other side who thinks you’d make a nice afternoon snack. You just want to be closer to them, to experience that incredible, daunting feeling of being in their presence.
Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before I got what I wanted.
The day after we had the tour go through, I was doing my sweep when I saw the ghost again. She was sitting on a small boulder in the same area I’d seen her the first time, looking identical, blood covering the front of her slashed shirt, the wounds visible underneath. I stopped and stood there for a moment before I decided to raise my hand in a small wave.
The young woman cocked her head at me and raised a hand in the air in an imitation of my gesture, her expression showing a bit of curiosity.
She was low-key, seemingly not concerned with my presence, looking at me as a novel phenomenon in her world. I wondered what that world consisted of. Was she always here, sometimes visible and sometimes not? Or did she have another world next to ours, in the ether, where she left everything in this world behind and floated in her disembodied form? Did she still feel emotions? Was that really curiosity on her face, or was I projecting? Did she feel happiness? Fear? Did she have the option of moving on, or was she stuck here?
Many questions that I might never get the answers to. And that was assuming Andrew knew the answers, since I’d never met Suzanne Cooper and he hadn’t even mentioned that possibility. This place was clearly her baby, but I’m sure running it was a lot of work. Plus, if she was rich enough to own it, she was rich enough to have other businesses and charities to run.
When it comes to the enclosures, they’re all wrapped by a barrier of some kind, though never one that seems adequate. There was not a single place with the ugly metal weavings of a chain-link fence, and no stretches of circular razor wire. Instead, there are nice fences. Black iron, or wrought steel fencing in a similar style to the one circling the perimeter of the zoo, just shorter and with different patterns. Or a spaced picket fence, the wood stained in some tone of brown, or a split two-rail fence. As if to say, ‘This is the border of your enclosure, but we’re just letting you know out of courtesy.’
When I started to pass enclosure number seven last night, a young woman’s voice spoke, “Hello.”
I startled, unaware that I hadn’t been alone. “Oh. Hi,” I said, staring at her standing a few yards in.
She had been next to a large tree and I hadn’t seen her. This enclosure was behind a picket fence, and she walked through the large area of wild grasses and flowers that stretched across the other side of the fence. There were fewer tall grasses closer to the fence, which I guessed was because it had been tromped down by her regular pacing along it when there were visitors, or if she wanted to see the various enclosures of the zoo. Her sudden appearance was a bit weird, considering I had been expecting to see a cryptid and instead I was looking at, it seemed, an attractive Asian woman.
She wore a black kimono, the soft silk robe draped gently over her body, with beautiful patterns of cherry blossoms, more so over her left side, and red and blue birds with their wings spread. A sash wrapped around her abdomen, she wore socks and sandals on her feet, and her hair was up in those rolls that gave volume to the style.
I was no expert on any fashion, much less that of another country, so I just assumed it was all traditional Japanese clothing. Most likely, the visitors who came liked to see a certain time-honored style and that’s what she stuck with. Or maybe she played on stereotypes. That would be amusing.
“I’m Yui. It’s nice to meet you,” she spoke, arriving at the border of the fence and holding out a hand for me to shake.
I’d been standing about three yards away from her, and I’ll be honest, muscle memory tried to kick in. But I only made it two steps, my hand starting to rise, before I froze, the hand falling limply at my side. “Nice to meet you, too,” I answered, my voice quiet.
Damn. I wonder how many times that honey trap works back where she comes from.
The pleasant look on her face faded, and she lowered her hand. “You won’t shake hands with me? Isn’t that rude?”
“I mean, I kind of like my hand where it is. You know, attached to me.”
Her demure smile widened into something more amused. “I would never do something so revolting.”
Looking her up and down, as if more visual information would give me more knowledge of what she was, I asked her, “What would you do?”
“I would be less wasteful,” she said softly.
A finger of ice trailed down my spine, and I had the sudden image in my head of her grabbing my outstretched hand in an iron grip and yanking me over the fence, leaving me to sprawl on the ground. Then killing and consuming me efficiently, without a single careless step, the same way humans slaughtered pigs, using everything from the hog but the squeal. I was struck with a shiver at the idea of her consuming everything from me but my screams.
Slowly, I took one step further down the path, then another. Just as I got to a walking pace, though, I realized the woman had started walking too, in the same direction. I’d have eventually gotten to the end of her enclosure and keep going, leaving her behind, but she spoke up. “Are you leaving?”
I came to a stop, meeting her gaze again. “My job is to walk the zoo every hour. Then I’ll get back to the security room and stay there until my next walk.”
“Have you met the others yet?”
I hesitated before saying, “Just Leila.”
She blinked languidly. “That means nobody welcomed you here.”
“Andrew did.”
She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she slowly started to lean forward, and I flinched backward a few steps further as I saw insect legs start curling out from her back.
No. Not insect. Arachnid.
The eight legs ended in small ‘paws’ with tiny claws, a layer of hairs covering the leg from top to bottom, like any typical tarantula. I took two more slow steps back and my mouth went dry as the jointed legs just kept lengthening, until they were large enough to lever her off the ground.
My gaze had been on the spider legs, but my heart skipped a beat as I realized her human legs had melded together and turned into a bulging abdomen. Her skin was shifting to a carapace, eventually all the way up to her shoulders and down her arms, her fingers elongating and her nails stretching to claws. From there down, her body was that of a pale tarantula with pedipalps the size of my arms and piercing fangs in her jaws that looked like they could take my head off.
There was a moment, my vision blurring, where I was worried that I might piss myself. The part of my brain that still had its humor intact in that moment told me that I should keep an emergency set of clothes in my car, or at the very least, start wearing Depends to work.
“I show you my true form,” she said softly, her voice now raspy like an eighty-year-old after a lifelong smoking habit. “Welcome to Suzanne Cooper’s zoo. The night shift guard for many years was Roger, before he retired and the zoo moved, and I miss him dearly. What should I call you?”
I choked on my words. There was no way my throat was going to cooperate enough for me to clearly get a sentence out. Instead, I realized my legs had taken control of the situation themselves, unsatisfied with my conscious brain’s decision to stand and stare, taking steps backward. I backed up a yard, then five yards, then ten.
My mind focused on the fact that spiders don’t waste anything, and pictured my demise. I’d be wrapped in a cocoon, killed, and made nice and mushy before she had me for dinner.
The whole time, my brain was a frenzied mess, my pupils were probably the size of dimes, and I was staring at that tiny, pathetic fence between her and me. There was so much adrenaline pumping through my body that I felt like my bones were vibrating. The fence was, to my eyes, the only thing between us. The only thing keeping her from tackling and killing me. My only hope was that she’d do it quickly.
But she didn’t move. As I absorbed her innocent, polite words, the look on her face was calm, and I wondered if this was typically the way a conversation went before she devoured her prey. I wondered how many people she’d eaten. Not humans, not people from Earth, but the ones from where she came from. The fact that she doesn’t scare the shit out of those people means they’re staggeringly dumber than humans.
Finally, I rounded a corner, both relieved at having her out of my sight and worried that she would take that moment to come find me. When she’d been within eyeshot, I had at least known where she was and could run in the other direction. But I didn’t hear the sound of faint footsteps moving rapidly toward me. All was quiet, in that deep, smothering way that only an empty business in the middle of the night in small town America could be.
My hands trembling, I barely paid attention to anything but the confirmation that my surroundings were free of the colossal spider as I finally got back to the door. Grabbing the handle and letting my eyes dart around for about ten seconds and my ears prick for the slightest sound, I finally swiped my key card across the pad and went inside, shutting the door behind me and engaging the backup deadbolt.
Maybe that was why they had decided on keycards. If I was running from something and panicking, using an actual key or inserting the card like at a hotel would keep me from getting to safety considering my hands were shaking enough to mix a margarita.
Walking over to my chair, I fell into it, letting my body flush itself of terror as I looked up at the cameras. There she was, still in arachnid form, exactly where I’d left her behind that rinky-dink fence, casually looking around and slowly pacing back and forth. I stared at her as my racing heart gradually slowed, and a minute or so later she turned on her eight legs and walked back into the trees.
Whatever invisible fences the enclosures have apparently work, which is nice, because I wasn’t keen on getting killed by one of the creatures here. And that’s what brings me here, spilling out everything that’s happened so far. Because nearly passing out from terror isn’t something I wanted to deal with at work, obviously, but I keep going over what she did in my head again and again, and I feel like I reacted like a child who spotted a wolf spider on their bed. I started to worry for my overactive sense of self-preservation, at least in my capacity as an employee here.
The spider didn’t even try to hurt me, and so I was feeling a bit foolish. Even annoyed, actually, at the fact that I’d freaked out so hard and took off instead of trying to engage in at least basic conversation. I got the sense that she wasn’t at human-level intelligence, but I was never going to be able to hold any level of conversation with an alligator.
Sure, she did mention that she wouldn’t be so crass as to yank off my hand because she’d rather just have my entire corpse, but wouldn’t a wolf do the same if it was hungry? Wouldn’t any carnivore? Actually, they probably would’ve been satisfied with one of my hands. The fear here was from the fact that she turned into a giant spider. If she’d turned into Clifford, I would’ve reacted the same way, if not better than, meeting Leila.
With that, I decided I’m staying on the job. Considering how frustrated I can get with foolish people, it’s a bit hypocritical, and I’m being a bit of an idiot. But…there are definitely wards keeping them in their enclosures. Also, I signed up for creatures for another dimension, whether or not I believed in them at the time, and I will not let encountering my first one in an objectively boring way be the reason I quit.
The money is a factor, I’ll grant you. Of course it is. And I can’t spend it if I’m dead, but all signs point to surviving as long as I don’t do anything dumb. Also, yes, I’ll admit there’s a not-so-little voice in the back of my head that’s desperate to know what else is here. I never thought I’d do something like this, but finding out these things are real, I honestly do want to learn more about them.
Still, though, I decided to call Andrew at the end of my shift to ask if the pepper spray and taser I carried worked on a certain spider, as well as the other animals I’d yet to meet.
​
Previous
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/storiesbykaren

This is what I posted on the board game community in Korea, and I'm also translating and posting it on Reddit!
The translation and text inspection took a long time, but I'm posting it because I think croquinol gamers from other countries will enjoy reading it.
(I don't know how to put pictures in between when writing on Reddit. If you're curious about pictures while reading, please visit the link below. You may not understand Korean, but pictures are visual information so they can be understood universally)
https://boardlife.co.kbbs_detail.php?tb=community_post&bbs_num=26766
Not long ago in early May, I ran a croquinol booth for students and parents at a Children's Day event (it was held on the grounds of the University of Education)
The head of the school affairs department suggested, "I heard you like board games, do you want to run a booth?" so I thought very hard. Actually, it was bothersome.
In the end, I accepted because I wanted to make good memories with children as well as selling croquinol. At first, I thought it was easy to take a few croquinols and play a few rounds.
It wasn't long before I realized that the idea was very wrong. This is because there were so many things to consider operating the booth. The program should be organized in consideration of the number of users and the number of people visiting.
The arrangement of objects and the movement of people should also be considered. I shouldn't think, 'I'm done explaining the game to the students in moderation and watching them play.'
I have to think about the details. I thought about it until the day of operation and right before it started. Now that it's been decided so far, I'll have to recruit staff to run it together (this was the most difficult problem)
Finally, find out the products to give to the visiting children and purchase them, purchase notices to be installed in the booth, and other things necessary to proceed or make them
For two weeks, I spent a lot of time and energy thinking about and preparing for how to operate the booth. I thought a lot about what to give as the prize, but it was finally decided to go down
(1) Pokémon Key Chain Pokémon is definitely a successful IP!!
I decided it right away because it looked so pretty and the quality looked good. There were some that were really cheap, but the quality was really... It was a pity, so I put in more budget
(2) ritter sport chocolate It's economical because there are 200 in a pack I tried one to see if it's poisonous What????? This chocolate tastes pretty good...
(3) Crockinol Pencil (Steadler + Engrave) Originally, I didn't want to give pencils, but if I imprint them and give them to students, I thought they could remember croquinol for quite some time, so I made it meaningful.
If you look closely at the pencil, you can see the image of a disc bouncing with a finger. (○ ● ☜) I made it using the basic characters on the keyboard. Haha.)
It took a long time to think of the word 'dream tree' in the engraved phrase. (Offered words: rookie, genius, child, master, king, god, etc.) Since there are no other people to help me, I planned and produced a lot of things by myself.... lol
I recruited the operating personnel as follows
Head of the school affairs department -> Recruit me (one-person planner and business manager): Let's compare and analyze croquinol sales and rest at home and then experience it. Decided
Me-> First cast (S teacher): A versatile teacher who has been in the next class since we met in the 6th grade this year He became interested after being introduced to Crockinol by me. Enjoying Crockinol at home with his wife. Canadian style. (He said he was doing it without giving it away.) After receiving a proposal from me, "I'll do all the preparations, so please come and let the children know the games without any burden," he decided to participate after much consideration. I'm playing with my kids in the classroom, and my croquinol skills are increasing rapidly. I'm planning to promote the entire 6th grade croquinol competition later.
Second cast (Teacher C): My younger brother who met as a manager and a staff member at my last school and became very close. The same person who said in an old article that he helped move the classroom!
Together, we played about 400 rounds of croquinol 1:1 match. He made a lot of mistakes in his early days, but after hundreds of editions, he became enlightened at some point. He has become quite a master.
His powerful shots made a lot of crazy scenes. Among them, he sent five discs of his opponent to a ditch at the same time. When he was asked by me to help him, he accepted without hesitation. (He is expected to participate in the next event.)
Third cast (Teacher K): I am a teacher from another region, and I am close to him because I got to know him in a club. She was the last to be recruited, and she suggested liter port chocolate and keychain among the product ideas. Pencils were also highly recommended when I was thinking about it.
Lastly, he volunteered after seeing me thinking about recruiting one more person.
She's the only teacher who doesn't have a croquinol, and she doesn't usually have a chance to train, so she's still a beginner's skill.
Rather, a person who is expected to revitalize the booth operation because of that. (If teachers do too well, all students lose.) For the record, she has a board gamer gene that can also play Arcnova board games.
※ In addition, there is a sad history of rejection and subtly falling over during the recruitment process.
And I started setting it up on the day!! Visit early with teacher C and install one croquinol on three tables in the tent
At first, I was worried because the table was in the shape of a rectangle, but I could put things here and there. If you put the croquinol at an angle on the table, it was possible to conduct a 2:2 team, so there was no problem.
After I finished setting up, I sat down for a bit and tried a croquinol test. Played without any problems. The shot was even better because I told them to cut their nails, including myself.
However, there was a lot of dust on the tables and chairs provided by the company, so I hurriedly cleaned them. The remaining two operators also narrowly joined, and a total of four people were matched.
After that, I had time to start operating the booth as a whole They're here...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The name of the booth was 'Gather up here if you're confident in flicking', but I think I drew some aggro. Other places looked healthy like making animal bracelets, but our booth was like, "You! Come if you're confident!"
The booth was originally planned like this Planning the rules of the game: - If you feel uncomfortable, you can stand and shoot freely - In the case of 1:1, the original use of the 1/4 shooting line based on North America and Canada, rather than the use of the 1/2 shooting line that changed the rules in Korean company Korea Board Games. - A student who is too young is forced to shoot with a line forward. Two places are experience seats and listen to and experience the rules 1:1 or 2:2 (Parents and friends can participate together) - The experience gift is one litre pot chocolate - Rule Description -> Shot Practice -> consists of a two-game friendly
If you have learned the rules through the experience, go to the challenge seat of one place and challenge 1:1 or 2:2 (you can also participate together) - If you win, you'll get a Pokémon keychain, even if you lose, you'll get a 1/3 chance of a keychain and a 2/3 chance of a pencil through a lottery - Using one chance card, we will proceed with two sets, and if the student draws or wins even one set, it will be considered a victory. - Re-challenge possible when you line up again The booth gradually gathered and filled the corner, and the line got longer
I repeated the explanation and game so wildly!
The first episode : Even though it was in the shade of the tent, the temperature was high, so the chocolate melted. The student said it melted, so I touched it and it was liquid! Unfortunately, we can't give these defective products to students, so we decided to go to the challenge seat without giving them away in the experience seat.
The second episode : Our classmates are here! I heard a voice saying, "Teacher!" and I can see the 6th grade girls in my class
Of course, we played the game. I tried to lose, but I thought that if I lost too much, the student would notice, so I made mistakes from time to time, but these guys made more mistakes!
It ended with me winning or drawing (I should have made it more clear and lost... lol) I said, "This is just an experience seat, so it doesn't matter, show your real skills in the challenge seat," and sent the girl to another corner
The third episode : People were buzzing that a very famous politician visited the booth next door. (He was Korea's presidential candidate.) I looked up and saw the face that I saw on screen Although I was curious, I had my day job as a board gamer, so I welcomed students and focused on explaining the rules. Later, I found out that he talked to a student who experienced our booth and passed by
The 4th episode : The booth operators were not given a separate lunch break! It was announced that they would take turns eating lunch boxes. There were quite a few people... and I barely had time to eat. One person will be in charge of one booth, and one person will take turns eating I'm the type to eat slowly while tasting the taste, but I didn't have much time to relax on this day, so I sat on the stand and came back in a hurry that I couldn't even feel the taste
The fifth episode : There are so many people, and especially in the case of the challenge seat, the waiting line is longer, so to solve the bottleneck, we decided to take both the place and challenge as an experience seat It was the same with the booth I was in. I don't know what this day is... I made more mistakes than usual and often missed shots because I was nervous dealing with children. Hahaha
The 6th episode : The operations staff at the next table said, "A kid came up with a challenge and beat me." He got the prize, of course But after that, the student was still in the viewing room and gave advice to other participating children, saying, "I win all of them," showing a lot of confidence Then the child triumphantly challenged the management staff again! He must have wanted to win again. What was the result? According to him, he showed the dignity of an adult with his skills to children Of course, he gave away a croquinol pencil this time!!
The 7th episode : I explained the rules so much that the script was automatically made "This game is a 150-year-old game of Canada known to have started in 1876.... "In Canada, it's a daily sport that many families have and play throughout their lives, from childhood to grandmothers and grandparents. The rules are simple: if you put it in here, it's 20 points, this is 15 points....." I can't remember how many times I repeated the script above! The eighth episode : There are people who waited for an hour to listen to it while organizing it I've already experienced it and moved to the challenge seat, but the challenge seat lines are too long... Did they feel like they were waiting for a long line in the amusement park... ㅠㅠ Parents were tired of waiting, so they asked to go to another booth, but the child said, "Since I've experienced it, I really want to try it. I want to take a Pokémon keychain!" and waited a lot. It must have been very boring for parents, but there was no other way. I thought the quality of the operation would be very low to just experience/challenge one game at a time 2 play experience + 2 play challenge was the minimum number of plays to feel a little croquinol
The ninth episode : After eating, I heard parents and children talking "This is where we play Alkagi(flicking). Shall we play Alkagi?" "Let's do it!"
If you had written the booth title, "Who wants to play croquinol?" no one would know croquinol, so accessibility would have been low But when the title said "Alkkagi", I was proud of him coming in without any pressure
The 10th episode : The official closing time of the booth was 4 p.m At around 3:50 p.m., I took a breath and looked at other places, and some places had already withdrawn, and I was usually cleaning up, so the atmosphere was clear But our booth is still full It lasted beyond hours Is this the power of crocinol?
The 11th episode : Time has been deleted I was worried about what if time went by during that long time of operating the booth, but it was a mistake. We were so busy explaining and playing that we didn't have time to look at the clock, and when we came to our senses, it was a time when the end was imminent. I couldn't even go to the bathroom for five hours. Because it was hectic, the operation ended without a comparative analysis of 'Are many people visiting other booths? How popular is our booth?' (When I saw the photos and videos later, I could see that our booth was more crowded than other booths.)
The 12th episode : I tried a lot to react to it in my own way. I really complimented the kid every time he hit the disc. I exaggerated a little bit like I became a YouTuber and shouted a compliment chant out loud A young girl who looked like elementary 1 or 2 sat down (around 7-8 years old) I finished explaining the rules, and asked her to practice shooting a few times. After that, we started playing the game. The girl said she would do it first, and she took the first shot of her life's first game. It went straight into the center hole. There was applause from all around. I said, "Even I couldn't put it in at first. It's amazing." Congratulations on your best experience." She's made a lot of mistakes in play since then, but it doesn't matter at all! There's nothing more touching than the first shot of 20 The parents who were nearby filmed this scene and will cherish this meaningful moment for a long time
The 13th episode : There seemed to be something interesting to see other crocinol tables also clapping, wow, oh, oh From the perspective of planning, all these reactions are a gift
The 14th episode : There were a lot of spectators while explaining/playing There were a lot of comments about the rules of the game "You have to hit the disc when it's on the surface" "Oh!" A male parent was glad to hear that he knew croquinol "I knew this game since it came out last year. It was about 110 dollars, but I didn't buy it because it was expensive." (It's more expensive now. It's about $140)
The 15th episode : We allowed a re-challenge in the 'Beat the Teacher' section, caressing the hearts of children thirsty for crocinol Some students tried again 3 times (The challenge itself takes about 1 minute and 30 seconds for the first round, 3 minutes in total, so it doesn't take much.)
The 16th episode : After 4 p.m., I looked at the other booth thinking about when to organize it, and a boy who looked like a fourth grade in the challenge seat was doing very well Her parents were also amazed by it The accuracy of each step wasn't unusual He said he came back to try it out and do it again Looking at the game, he unfortunately lost to Teacher S by 5 points when he made a mistake of 2 turns in the second half Teacher S told the student. " Try it with that teacher. He's the best While sitting down, I asked, "Do you want me to do it with all my strength or not?" I laughed and asked At first, the student said, "Please be generous!" but later changed his words to "With full strength." "Haha, okay. I'll go with all my strength!" The student said he would attack first and tried an open shot and went straight into the center hole "Wow... does this make sense?" I also chased along the disc in the center hole. That's how I tried to hit my opponent's disc in Hogan's alley and accidentally wasted three turns. The result is that the student who leads by 15 points wins... The child liked it very much and came home with a light step with his parents "Thank you for your hard work. Bye!" When I looked at the playground with the back of my family leaving after saying hello, the sun was slowly heading down, scattering light everywhere and giving the lawn a cozy view What could be a more peaceful landscape. He must have felt really good on his way home. I thought he lost well
Finish writing : When I was in college, I ran a different kind of booth when I was the president of a club, but it was the first time I ran it this way in relation to board games.
At that time, there were a lot of club members and the space was very spacious, so the event was held comfortably, but the croquinol booth was operated in a very minimal condition: 1 tent, 3 tables, 3 croquinols, and 4 people in operation
Still, it ended successfully as it exceeded the time without an accident, so considering that it is the first operation under this condition, it should be considered a great success.
The operation of this croquinol booth was planned by myself and prepared for the program, so I have a lot of attachment.
I'm grateful to the three people who ran it together (they were dispatched from each elementary school publicly and privately). As expected, people are the most important.
I'm willing to do it again if I have to participate in the booth event another month this year or if I have to run it again next year. I think we can do it in a better way than now
For example, I dream of running a mini-contest by installing more tables. There's a mini trophy, and I think the kid who got it will really like it. (Of course we need a lot more people than we do now...!)