I decided I was going to stalk one of my online pen pals. There was twisted logic in this decision. I had decided that he was a stalker, and that I was going to break into his house and find some evidence of his obsession with me. I convinced myself I was doing this because the guy creeped me out, but I secretly wanted to be flattered by his odd obsession.
I found his house -- or so I thought. His house was exactly like MY house. In fact, it WAS my house, only with his stuff in. I walked in with no trouble and walked into his bedroom (MY bedroom) and turned on his computer. I found all of the e-mails I had written to him saved in a special file. I printed these out, turned off the computer, and went to look for more evidence.
I didn't get very far. I looked out the window of the living room and saw three cars in the driveway. One was mine, one was that of a guy who I supposed to be my stalker's roommate (who seemed to have no idea I was there; in fact, I seemed to be invisible in front of him), and the other was my stalker's car. He was still in it, though, but the lights were on and I could see him taking a shower. Yes, in his car. It was one of those stand-up showers with the frosted doors, so I could only see an outline of him.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. I went to answer it. It was a deliveryman.
"Are you [stalker's name]?" the deliveryman asked.
I told him I was, despite the fact that I am very plainly a woman.
"That's impossible," the deliveryman said. "He doesn't live here."
I ran out to my car and drove away as quickly as I could, hoping that no one else had seen me. If it hadn't been his house, though, how to explain all of his stuff on the computer?
The next thing I knew, I WAS with my stalker pen-pal. I was in his car (a black pickup truck, actually), and it was dark outside. He was leading me to his apartment, which was on the basement floor of a shady looking building. The landing and front door of his apartment looked like that of my boyfriend's apartment.
Stalker let me in. "I decorated the place just for you," he said. "I hope you like it." He knew I liked 40s and 50s decor, I guess, and the place was filled with antiques. Some of them were from the wrong decade, though. The carpet was brown shag, and the chairs were an awful olive green. The tables were made of mirrors. On one of the barstools was a handmade sign (markers and poster board) that read "I love you" and was decorated with cartoonish flowers.
I was completely overwhelmed by all of this. Also by the fact that the entire time I was looking at his apartment, he was trying to make out with me.
