Even Trade
“So, how long have you lived here?” she asked, looking around after she sat down on the couch.
“It’s been about five years now. It’s a small house but there’s a finished basement, more room that you might think just seeing it from the street. Can I get you anything, munchies, something to drink?” He stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
They had first met at work. He was in the Engineering department; she worked in Purchasing. Procurement meetings often brought them together when planning rollouts of new products. Co-workers warned him she rarely went out with anyone from the company. Eventually he asked her anyway, and to his surprise she accepted.
The first date had been a movie followed by a late dinner. Over plates of enchiladas the topic came up of relationships and compatibility. She had mentioned a new website with a compatibility test processed entirely by an artificial intelligence program. It asked all the usual questions and a few surprisingly politically incorrect ones, but promised the answers were kept in strict confidence to encourage honesty. The site had a lengthy explanation on how the profiles were never read by a real person. To test compatibility two people could exchange profile IDs and get back a percentage rating.
The concept was intriguing. More out of curiosity than anything else they had decided to try it out. His profile was accurate to a degree where he’d never risk answering if the responses were made public. For that reason he hadn’t expected much in the way of results. He was astonished when the AI gave her a “93% compatible” rating. Even more surprising was her result, which showed him as “near perfect”. Both of them agreed to a second date to discuss the results over dinner.
He sat down in a chair facing her. She was attractive in the ways he preferred. The AI had certainly hit one hundred percent in that respect. She was dressed for an evening out, although in a more conservative way than what he usually encountered. Looking at her he was struck by one more way she seemed to be different. He hadn’t noticed before how she always sat with her legs together, never crossed, and both feet on the floor at all times. That was one of the quirks he had listed in his profile.
The dinner had gone well, or at least he thought so. The conversation had been non-stop, none of those awkward pauses where no one knows quite what to say. She didn’t appear to be reticent about talking about herself either, no short answers, and seemed to be just as interested in what he had to say. Still, it wasn’t obvious to either of them why the AI would consider them a near perfect match. Still puzzled by the result she had actually asked to see his place, even though it was only their second time out together.
“No thanks, I’m good,” she replied. “I have no idea why the computer rated us so highly, there has to be something more. So how about a trade? Tell me a secret about yourself, something no one else knows, and then I’ll reveal one about myself.” She leaned back on the couch, one arm extended along the top.
He sat down, folded his arms and studied her, pondering her offer. “In engineering we have what’s called fault mode effects analysis, what are the consequences of some particular design choice when it fails or doesn’t work as expected? The end result is a prediction about the risks when you realize, after the fact, you made a serious mistake. That begs the question, what’s the risk here if I open my Pandora’s Box of secrets and let you peek in? If I accept the offer, let you have a look at my personality flaws, do you think you can keep an open mind before you decide to run out the door, screaming for help?” He did have a secret, a big one, and it was definitely something that might very well scare her off.
She sat up, intrigued by his answer. She had expected some minor insight into what kind of person he was, on the order of a secret fear of black cats or an intense dislike for fried okra. Instead he seemed to be willing to reveal something major. “As long as you’re not some kind of serial killer or wanted for war crimes on three continents, I promise I’ll stay calm. Beyond that, well, it depends on you.”
He laughed. “No, nothing quite that drastic, no outstanding warrants.” He thought a moment. “Okay, fair enough, it’s a deal. Rather than explain, it’ll be easier to show you. I have a collection of items in the basement, nothing gruesome, but not the sort of thing most people indulge in as a hobby. If you find it disturbing just say so. I’ll take you home right away. I ask only that you treat it as private, just between the two of us.”
He rose from his chair. “One other condition, your secret has to be on par with mine. No getting out of the trade by telling me you secretly loathe crushed nuts on ice cream cones.”
What could it be, she wondered? Like him she had found the idea of a completely anonymous compatibility test intriguing. Trusting in the promises the site made she had filled out her profile with highly personal information, details she’d never disclose to anyone in person.
Up to now she had a good feeling about the man sitting across from her. Considering what she’d put in her profile she had to wonder why the AI would pick this particular one to be such a close match, according to the little information provided to her. That was the catch with the website: it reported a compatibility index but offered no explanation as to how the number was calculated.
He was certainly charming. He was attentive, considerate, yet assertive in subtle ways that appealed to her. From the wide ranging topics over dinner he was obviously educated and expressed himself well, another surprise considering he was an engineer. If pressed she couldn’t explain why, but her intuition said to trust him.
She stood up. “Okay, even trade. If I stay I promise I’ll match you secret for secret. And for your information I like nuts on a cone. It’s that hard chocolate coating I hate.”
The Collection
She followed him down the stairs to the basement. It was finished, as he had mentioned, with painted wall board, ceiling tiles and a carpet on the floor, overall a nice job of adding space to a small house. The room at the bottom of the stairwell was fitted out as a casual living room, with a large screen TV, some chairs and a somewhat worn but clean sofa. A closed door led to the rest of the basement.
“I keep the collection in here,” he explained, opening the door.
She hesitated just a moment before following him into the next room. When he turned on the lights what she saw was totally unexpected, but it did explain his caution. The walls were lined with pegboards, and on them were hanging all sorts of handcuffs, leg chains and other types of restraints. Underneath each item was a small card. She walked up to one and started reading. The cards were neatly printed labels, listing the model, company, country of origin and date of manufacture. Definitely an engineering type, she told herself, he’s careful about the little details.
He backed up to the far end of the room. She didn’t miss that. He was deliberately not blocking the door, trying to not be seen as a threat. “Okay, open mind,” she began. “Obvious question, why collect,” she swept her arm around the room, “all this?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t come to mind immediately, but there’s a real mechanical design challenge here. How do you assert physical control over someone, usually by force, in such a way as to minimize injury while preventing escape? Potential prisoners come in all shapes and degree of hostility. Any solution has to cover a wide spectrum, yet be economical and relatively easy to use, with little or no training. I’m fascinated by the whole idea, and the solutions that have evolved over the years.”
She turned back to the wall display, slowly walking past his exhibits. “All these are the real thing? They actually work? You have the keys?” She needed some time to take in what she was seeing.
“There are some reproductions, when the originals are rare or one-of-a-kind museum pieces. Yes, they are all real, they work reliably, and I have two keys to everything hanging on the wall.”
She stopped in front of one particular item that caught her interest. “Tell me about this one,” she asked, pointing to one of the restraints. “How was it used?” How could the AI site have matched me to a man like this? She turned to look at him, noting how he carefully kept his distance.
He came over to stand next to her. “Those are what’re known as transport chains. When a high risk or violent prisoner had to be moved to another facility the guards will use them to closely restrict hands and feet, to keep the prisoner subdued. They’re still in use today.”
“They look scary.” She turned her head to look up at him. She asked herself silently, should I do it? Taking a deep breath, she plunged into unknown territory. “Show me how they work! Pretend I’m a violent, psychotic criminal. I’ve just been convicted on multiple sensational and particularly grisly murder charges, now you have to take me to prison.”
He stared at her, taken back by her unexpected request. “These aren’t kids’ toys, you know. This is the real deal. That particular model is used by federal marshals and maximum security prisons. They lock on; you can’t get them off without the key. Unless your secret is you moonlight as an escape artist?”
She looked directly at him, eye to eye. “I understand, I trust you. And no, no outside job as a magician. Go ahead; I want to know what it’s like. I’ve never been arrested. I’ve never even seen handcuffs before, except on TV.” She turned her back to him, placing her hands behind her back. “I’m ready. And don’t hold back. Treat me like I’m the real deal too.”
He hesitated, wondering if this was a good idea. He reached up and took the restraints off the pegs. “These can be used with your hands in front…” he began.
“On TV it’s always hands behind the back,” she interrupted him. “Don’t take too long. I’m liable to lose my nerve.” That part was true. It was all she could do to hold still and not start shaking. I can’t be saying this, she thought. It felt like she was driving down a steep, twisty mountain road late at night, through a thick fog.