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This is a question Messing With Their Head

Gaslighting, mindfucks, call it what you will - what subtle ways have you messed with people? The pettier or more subtle the better.

(, Thu 16 Apr 2015, 14:58)
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Hello, Moto
Once, many incarnations ago, I worked for a large organisation in their vast, cavernous open-plan office in one of your major cities. My job was menial and tedious, even demeaning, to one such as I with my vast intellect and range of superior talents, but I needed the money, so I put up with it until something better came along. I was there for three months and after a only a week I was bored out of my Time Lord mind. So, to break the tedium, to entertain myself, I destroyed the mind of one of my work colleagues.

His name doesn't matter - let's call him Andy. It wasn't personal, he had done nothing to me, we didn't even work in the same team. I just picked him at random as my plaything. Andy was a young, fresh-faced chap with neat brown hair and a pleasant, cheerful face. He always wore crisp white shirts and pastel ties, a different shade each day. He was quiet, well-regarded, and good at his job. By the time I had finished him, he was a broken toy, fit only to be pitied, destined for a life of homelessness, prostitution, alcoholism and suicide.

How did I break him? It was simple, so so simple. Every time he walked past my desk, I would look him straight in the eye and say 'Hello, Moto' in a creaky comedy voice, as in the Motorola television advertisements of the time:


That was all it took, over the course of three months, to dismantle a human being and send it to the scrap-heap of life.

The first time I did it, Andy looked surprised, and a little bit scared. After that, he smiled, obviously thinking it was a joke. After a week, he started raising his eyebrows and shooting me a look of disapproval. Then, after a few weeks, he started ignoring me, but I could see a little twitch in his left eye every time I intoned the magic words 'Hello, Moto.'

Then one day, as he approached, I was about to say 'Hello, Moto' when, before I had the chance, he said it to me. I simply reacted with a blank stare of incomprehension and watched the smile melt slowly from his face.

I was half-expecting his manager to come and have a word with me about my behaviour, but what could Andy say? 'Skagra keeps saying "Hello, Moto" to me and it's beginning to affect my performance.' He obviously felt too embarrassed to raise the issue. So on I went. Every time he passed my desk, I would look him in the eye and say, 'Hello, Moto.'

'Hello, Moto. Hello, Moto. Hello, Moto.'

He went back to ignoring me, or trying to ignore me, and the twitch got worse. After a month or so he took to scowling angrily and averting his face, his fists clenched hard.

After two months, this happened:

Andy approaches my desk.
Me: 'Hello, Moto.'
Andy: 'Look, can you stop this? Please?'
Me: 'Stop what?'
Andy: 'Saying fucking "Hello, Moto" each time I walk past!'
Me: 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Andy: 'You do... Stop it. [Choking back a sob] Just stop it, right?
Me [as Andy walks off]: 'Hello, Moto.'

After that, he would flinch convulsively each time he walked past and I said 'Hello, Moto.' His once cheerful face took on a gaunt, haunted aspect. There were dark rings beneath his eyes and he was more often unshaven than not. His sick absences increased sharply and I heard gossip that he was drinking heavily. All this pleased me immensely and provided me with a welcome distraction from the tedium of my work.

It all came to a head one Friday. I didn't see the first act, but I did witness the denouement. Andy came in late and extremely hungover, and just before lunch, went to the toilet, never to return. He was found by an alarmed member of staff to have locked himself in one of the cubicles and was sobbing hysterically. His manager was fetched but all attempts to talk him down failed. Eventually, security guards were called in and they broke down the door only to find Andy curled up in the foetal position, his screaming face a mess of tears and snot, his trousers and boxer shorts round his ankles and the words 'Hello, Moto' smeared on the walls of the cubicle in his own excrement.

Andy was hauled shrieking from the cubicle by the two burly security guards and escorted out of the building, trousers still round his ankles, screaming 'HELLO, MOTO!' over and over again at the top of his voice. I watched with extreme satisfaction as the broken toy was dragged across the atrium and ejected from the building, never to return.

A week or so later I got a new and better job, which didn't require such distractions. Andy, I later found out, lost his job and his house and became a homeless alcoholic male prostitute and was arrested for smashing in the windows of a Motorola shop. He hung himself with his trouser belt in his prison cell.


(, Sun 19 Apr 2015, 13:07, 11 replies)
this is a million times better than any of your previous posts

(, Sun 19 Apr 2015, 16:06, closed)
Thanks sweetie!
I was going to post a story about the mind control experiments of the Zbargox. Still might, actually!
(, Sun 19 Apr 2015, 16:32, closed)
Bullying lols

(, Mon 20 Apr 2015, 14:03, closed)
(, Mon 20 Apr 2015, 17:53, closed)
finally, a click
more of this kind of thing please
(, Tue 21 Apr 2015, 9:40, closed)
aren't you dead yet?

(, Tue 21 Apr 2015, 16:09, closed)

(, Tue 21 Apr 2015, 18:27, closed)
I hope you die in a fire caused by an overheating mobile phone charger.

(, Tue 21 Apr 2015, 19:40, closed)
(, Tue 21 Apr 2015, 20:56, closed)

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