You’re at the bookstore, picking up the latest by Tom Clancy. You spot me standing nearby, my nose buried in one of the Twilight books, which, despite popular opinion, are not just for teenage girls. Nonetheless, you shake your head in disgust. Suddenly you double over as if an invisible fist just punched you in the stomach.
Explanation: Possibly you’ve eaten something you shouldn’t have. Try making healthier food choices, and being less judgmental.
You swerve your car in front of me so quickly that I have to slam on the brakes. Suddenly your windows slide up and down uncontrollably and your radio tunes itself to a country-western station. Smoke seeps from underneath your hood and you shudder to a stop. As I slowly swing around you, I do that thing where I scratch the side of my head with my middle finger — just subtle enough so that you can’t really tell if I’m sending you a message or not. But you know I am.
Explanation: If it wasn’t for the smoke, I’d say it was an electrical problem, but I’ve never really been a car guy.
At the gym, you decline to wipe your disgusting sweat off the machine you’ve just finished using, even though you can see me waiting my turn. Walking off toward the showers, you have the strange sensation of being sharply slapped upside the head. Twenty feet behind you, I flash a smug grin.
Explanation: You failed to go through the recommended cool-down phase of your workout. Probably a muscle cramp or something.
At the movies, you’re eating your popcorn a bit too loudly in the row behind me. Suddenly you find that some inexplicable force is clamped around your jaw, preventing you from chewing. This is when I turn around to face you and slowly raise my finger to my lips in a creepy shushing motion. Your eyes widen with dawning terror, and you begin to sob deep in the back of your throat and thrash in desperation, and generally become an annoyance to everyone sitting around you. And yet the manager comes and asks me to leave the theater.
Explanation: I had snuck in through the rear exit during the previews.
You knock on my door and try to sell me candy bars or magazine subscriptions, or whatever it is you’re peddling. Weren’t you the same kid who was just here last week? Didn’t I say no then, too? Suddenly a horrible image forces itself into your mind, a prophetic vision warning you that I’m the living embodiment of pure evil with bizarre paranormal abilities that have gradually made me go mad with power, and that you had better leave right away, before something truly terrible can happen. The vision fades as abruptly as it arrived…then I threaten to call the cops if you come back again, and slam the door in your face.
Explanation: That vision was all yours. I’d never use my mind powers on a little kid. I’m not a complete monster, you know. Still, don’t forget what I said about the cops.