17 June, 1997

Several years ago, I worked in the chat area of Nameless Major On-Line Service. For just shy of two years, I came on every night for a handful of hours and did super-important Staff stuff (ooh, awestruck much?). I ran quasi-moderated themed chats. I hosted trivia games. I sat at the help desk and answered questions like, "What's a modem?" and "I don't know what kind of computer I have. I bought it at Nameless Electronics Chain. Does that help?" Sometimes, I actually took a break and (shocker) chatted. I grew up a lot on Nameless Service, learned a great deal about netiquette, group dynamics (my buzzphrase for the month, so hush up), and found a well of patience I didn't think I had. Oh, yeah, and I beefed my typing speed up a hefty wpm or six.

Now, because I was Staff, and because I was on-line most every night, I knew the names of nearly every person — regular or not — that came to the chat area. Sure, sure, people changed their chat nicknames. Yeah, they changed their email addresses. Sometimes, real wily ones managed to hack what state/timezone/server they were. I always spotted them, though. Sometimes, it took a little researching, rooting through old logs or on-line white pages. Usually, it was as simple as sitting in a chat with the person and "listening" to their speech. Nobody got by old Chat Staff Gage.

Not even The Candy Man. He was a particularly worrisome character. Strange tales about him circulated our happy chat community. Gossip, mostly, but laced with what I wagered were true accounts of illicit sexual deeds. I sat in several chats with him before making up my mind. Have to tell you, and I don't mind if you think I'm going all Shirley Maclaine on you here, but I got a way icky vibe off the guy. If all he'd been was a pervert looking for a virtual lay, I'd have left him be. He was a much more sinister creature, though. He was an educated, literate, articulate pervert with a taste for young women. A real life taste, mind you. And he didn't buggering like me one bit because I was just as smart, just as wicked, and could play far dirtier pool.

(Why on earth are you looking at me like that, child?)

Nasty nasty Candy Man. I kept an eye on him (no, it wasn't part of my job description. You wanna make sumpin' of it?). What I was watching for, I wasn't entirely certain. When it would come, or how it would go down, I didn't know. What I'd be able to do about it, if anything, I wasn't sure. But I waited and watched nonetheless. In horror, of course (what sort of rough beast do you think I am?).

Candy Man screwed his way through half of the women on the chat area. Some virtual, many in real life. He toyed with them, promised them love in flowery phrases, scored, and changed his email address. He listened in that transparent, John Gray manner of his, as this girl or that boohooed on his shoulder, oblivious to his hand sliding into her pants. All he wanted was sex, and he got lots of it, honey. Young (often a bit too young), sweaty sex. Oh, the humanity.

Turned out, there wasn't much I needed to do. Candy Man's days were numbered. His escapades caught up with him soon enough. I mean really, the chat area was roughly the size of a tiny town in South Dakota. Boondocks hicks may be ignorant, but they ain't stupid. Several of his belt notches were in chat together, when one decided to share with the rest that she'd found the most marvelous man. Turned out, to their dismay, shock, and outrage (not mine, though. Duh), that, though he'd gone by different names, he'd used the same tired pickup lines on each of them. Even borderline forced a couple of them into bed. Well, I don't need to finish that thought, now, do I?

Gee, gage, do you think stuff like that happens on the net these days? Oh...I don't know. Say, did you hear the one about...