Likely Ways I Might Appear in a True-Crime Documentary

I joined a cult—not because I was gullible enough to fall for the wiles of a charismatic “prophet,” but because I was nosy enough.

I filed a missing-persons report after I made a joke in the group chat and no one responded.

I witnessed an inevitably viral altercation on my hot-girl walk.

My boyfriend took me camping, and I disappeared, only to mysteriously resurface at the closest luxury waterfront hotel with a spa.

I became part of a drug ring to get out of the house more and make new friends, maybe get a little exercise.

I was lured into a dark warehouse by a serial killer who put a sign out front that read “Free Sephora gift cards.”

I was one of many victims scammed by an iconic celebrity—I used J. Lo’s skin-care line for two weeks and did not immediately look like her.

I got so adept at researching dating prospects that the F.B.I. tracked me down and hired me on the spot.

I was investigated for counterfeiting after trying to buy a Ring Pop with Monopoly money in 1991.

I was the person saying, “Actually, her smile did not light up the room, and she was kind of a bitch,” in a “Dateline” interview.

I was the person saying, “Couldn’t be me!” in an interview about girls from my high school who were duped into signing up for sketchy M.L.M. pyramid schemes.

I became an unknowing accomplice when I helped a nice old lady carry out a TV that she “paid for” using the Target self-checkout.

I killed roughly fifteen to two hundred houseplants in the course of ten years and got away with it.

I never once hesitated to climb into the back seat of a stranger’s car as my sole method of transportation.

I bought a twenty-two-dollar airline ticket, which I later learned meant that I had to fly the plane if the Spirit pilots needed a bathroom break.

I joined a band of ghost hunters who turned out to be hunting actual spirits and not men who never texted me again after a date. 

Likely Ways I Might Appear in a True-Crime Documentary
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