The Man Who Was Never Alone

A man named Doug sat down across from his buddy, Frank, looking like he’d just seen a ghost who also happened to be extremely nosy. “Frank,” Doug whispered, “I need to tell you something. There’s… there’s this guy.” Frank blinked. “A guy.” “Yes, a guy,” Doug said, leaning in. “He follows me everywhere. All day. All night. Into the bathroom. Into the bedroom. Even when I’m with my wife.”

Frank made a face. “Into the bathroom? That’s bold.” “That’s what I’m saying,” Doug hissed. “He just stands there. Watching. Listening. And then, this is the worst part: he writes everything down in his little black book.” Frank raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Doug said. “What I say. What I do. What I shouldn’t have done. What I shouldn’t have said. He’s relentless. I can’t escape him. I tried hiding behind the shower curtain once. He just wrote, ‘Doug is hiding behind the shower curtain.’”

Frank nodded slowly, like he was diagnosing a rare psychological condition. “Do you… know who he is?” Doug shook his head. “No. That’s why I’m telling you. I thought maybe you’d know. He’s always there. Always judging. Always scribbling. I swear he’s got more notes on me than my doctor.” Frank sighed, put a hand on Doug’s shoulder, and said with the solemnity of a man delivering ancient wisdom, “His name… is Permanent Record.”

Doug froze. “Permanent Record?” “Permanent Record,” Frank repeated. “Your teachers warned you about him. Every time you threw a spitball, every time you talked back, every time you ‘forgot’ your homework, they said, ‘This is going on your permanent record.’ And you thought they were bluffing.”

Doug’s mouth dropped open. “He’s real?” “Oh, he’s real,” Frank said. “And he’s thorough. He’s like Santa, but instead of gifts, he gives consequences.” Doug slumped back in his chair. “So… what do I do?” Frank shrugged. “Be better, I guess.” Doug groaned. “Ugh. That sounds exhausting.” Frank nodded. Permanent Record agrees. He wrote that down, too.