I’m a little sensitive about secret internet identities. My father had his whole double life thing and my ex used a burner phone to pretend he was me. Yet here I am, dealing it with it again and this time from Alex. It all started on a slow night when I was determined to be productive but Alex had run out of things to do. One thing led to another and he was stalking me on Google, trying to figure out how well I ranked against the Aussa Sultanate and Yu Gi Oh character by the same name. Eventually he ended up here on my site, trawling through the comments section.
“I should mess with your readers and start replying back.”
I gave a noncommittal noise, hoping my lack of protest would uninspire him. I was busy being important on Facebook, sharing my highly sought after opinion on how often women should wash their bras (you’re supposed to wash them?) That’s when my blog notifications started popping up with enlightened comments like “Brrrddlllrp!”
My apologies and ten thousand rupees to any of you who got one of those replies.
I assumed he was done with his little project until I heard him giggle from the other side of the couch. Before I could interrogate him, Facebook told me some random creeper had commented on a photo. Like a fly to the web, I clicked it.
As though living in constant fear of this godforsaken clown in my home weren’t enough, he’d now taken it to the internet and created a fake Twitter and fake Facebook account using the clown as his avatar.
After the requisite screaming, wailing, and gnashing of teeth I got back to my important Facebooking. Alex stopped his giggling and the night passed without further incident. The next morning he sent me a text from the other room and there was that damned clown face next to his name in my phone. I ran to assault him, wailing as I went.
“Why must you torment me?”
He looked confused.
I held up the phone, waving it in his face like a smoking gun.
“Wait… how did it do that?”
Understanding slowly dawned. He’d used his real cell phone number to set up the Facebook account. The tables had turned, and karma was as sweet as ever.
“This means every single person on Facebook who has you as a contact in their phone now sees your fake name with that creepy ass clown when you message or call.”
I could picture his super important business contacts staring at their phones in confusion, his boss scratching her head. It was too beautiful. It was like he’d pranked himself.
“No,” he said. “This is bad.”
He began clicking through the settings in Facebook, trying to find the place to remove his number.
“Help me,” he said, sounding more desperate.
It was my turn to giggle.
“Shiiiiiiit,” he said. “It says I have to verify my email in order to delete the number but when I click on the verification link it says the page can’t be loaded.”
He sounded so defeated. It was delicious.
“I have to delete the account. Help me.”
Eventually he figured it out, but with very little help from me. It looks like my darling husband just doesn’t have what it takes to maintain a fake identity on the internet. He lasted about 45 minutes. Thank the old gods and the new.
What’s the weirdest thing that shows up when you google yourself? Do you keep your online life separate from your professional life? Have you ever had a prank that backfired on you?
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