- [Woman] Once upon a time, in my not-so-distant past,
I had a stalker.
This is that story.
Okay, so, as you can see, or not see, I guess,
I'm going to be anonymous for this video.
This was a pretty scary time for me,
so, I think it's just best if we do it this way.
(breathes) Here we go.
So, one day, I'm eating at this restaurant,
and this guy comes up to me.
"Have you ever thought about modeling?" he asks,
and we get to talking.
Whatever image you have in your head of this person,
you're probably right.
Two words, sunglasses inside.
Let's call him John.
He explains that he works for a local modeling agency.
He shows me their website, looks legit,
and he says that I should think about joining.
To be honest, modeling was something
I had always considered pursuing,
so, I decided to hear him out.
After all, isn't this how people get discovered?
In my head, I'm thinking,
even if this guys isn't legitimate,
plain and simple, I just don't work with him.
John doesn't have a business card,
so, he asks for my number.
Harmless enough, I think, so, I give it to him.
"We'll be in touch," he says, and then, he leaves.
A few days go by and via text, we arrange
to meet up again to talk about the specifics
for how this whole modeling thing would work.
Okay, this is where things start
to get a little bit strange.
We meet in a coffee shop, I sit down,
and I see a stack of papers sitting next to him.
Okay, so to get started, we'll need to get you a comp card.
No professional model can show up to a casting
without a comp card, I can set you up with a photographer,
blah, blah, blah, blah.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the modeling world,
a comp card is basically a model's business card.
To quickly backtrack to anyone who is watching
who's like, what are you doing?
Get out of there, I did do some research beforehand.
Apparently, there's a common scam for models,
where someone says they'll make you a comp card,
but then, the photographer will charge you
a bunch of money for the pictures.
So, in my head, I'm thinking,
I know what's going on here.
If they need photos from me,
I can just get a photographer friend
to take them for free.
"Actually, you know what?" he says suddenly.
"There's a casting call for a shoot right now.
"We should definitely go."
I'm like, no, I can't right now, talking my way out of it.
Also, I didn't even have a comp card yet.
John was already contradicting himself.
Okay, well, here's a contract, you can go ahead
and sign it, and we'll just look for more casting calls.
I look over the papers, my name is already filled
into the contract, and it's spelled wrong,
not to mention, it's a two-year contract,
and, to top it all off, the name of the agency
was completely different than the name
he originally told me.
My bad vibes meter is off the charts.
I just need to get out of there.
I explain that all the info is wrong,
we can't do this right now.
I try to leave, but he keeps pressuring me
about this contract.
I'll send you a fixed version, what's your address?
(brooding music) I give him my email.
No, your address.
Okay, so, at this point in my life,
I was doing a lot of freelance work
that involved invoices, so, I was constantly giving people
my address to send checks to.
So, you know, up to this point,
I was just like, you can have my address,
and you can have my address, everyone can have my address.
So, I did it, I gave him my address.
I leave the coffee shop, I go home,
and I look up the company that was on the contract.
The website is so bad, like, comically bad.
I send the URL to a friend of mine,
who is actually a model, and she basically tells me
to never talk to this guy ever again.
I was officially done with seeing where this goes.
Over the next few days, I get a few texts
from John trying to schedule a time
to get my comp card pictures taken.
I don't respond at first, but he keeps contacting me.
I say that I'm sick, and that I won't be able
to do it right now.
Enter a new character in the story.
We should call her Diana.
I start to get emails from Diana.
She works for this agency.
They need my measurements and are asking
when I can get started.
I don't answer any of these.
I'm just trying to distance myself,
thinking that maybe they'd lose interest in me.
About a week goes by, I get a photographer friend
to take pictures of me for my own comp card.
I actually don't hear from John or Diana for a few days.
Okay, finally, some breathing room here.
One day, I'm home alone, hanging in my apartment,
just watching TV.
Suddenly, there's a noise coming from the front door,
like, someone's trying to open it.
No knocking. (doorknob clicking)
Just the turning of the doorknob.
I freeze, someone is trying to get into my apartment.
My heart is pounding, my eyes are glued to the front door.
After what feels like an eternity, the noise stops.
I think they're gone, but then,
I hear a slow, quiet, rustling.
A single sheet of paper is being slid
under the door.
I hear the person walk away--
(footsteps tapping) And they're gone.
I could barely move, but I eventually
summoned up the courage to go pick up the paper.
It's a sheet of, like, notebook paper,
and on it, is a handwritten note.
It's from the agency and it's how they haven't heard
from me in a while and need to get in contact
with me, so we can book more modeling gigs
and stop losing money.
This has 1,000% gone too far.
I wait a little while and then, I decide
that I'm gonna text John.
I don't work for you, please leave me alone.
He acts like nothing happened.
He jumps right into other casting calls,
and how I still need a comp card.
Enough with the comp card!
I tell him, my friend already took pictures of me,
stop contacting me.
In the meantime, I needed to tell my roommates
what was happening.
Within a day or two, my photographer friend gets an email.
It's from a completely new person,
so, I guess we can just call her Regina.
To paraphrase, the email says, leave my name alone.
Are you kidding me?
I have no idea how they got my friend's email
or why they told her to leave me alone.
Now, I'm getting really mad.
Leave my friend out of this, I never had
nor ever will work for you.
I have almost no doubt that John is behind
all of these emails and every time I would stand up to him,
it seemed that a new, fake person would just pop up.
Days go by, I'd be home with my roommates,
and there would be random knocks
on our front door. (hand knocking)
We were scared to get our mail or even take out the trash.
To be honest, I was scared to walk alone at night.
I eventually receive an email from John,
telling me I'm fired.
He also told me to stop contacting him.
I, for one, have never been fired
from a job that I never worked at.
So, that was a first.
In the meantime, I finally decide to tell my mom.
I was hesitant to up to this point,
because I knew that she wouldn't take it lightly.
I kept a lot of this to myself
because it was confusing, maybe a little bit embarrassing,
and, above all, really scary.
I needed a support system to beat this guy.
So, I tell my mom, and, of course, she's freaking out,
and is like, we need to report him.
I'm still getting emails from John and Diana,
telling me that I'm fired.
In fact, this was literally every day.
Okay, now, this last part of the story
gets a little confusing,
if you weren't already confused enough.
One day, I get a new email from this girl, Regina.
If you can't keep track, this is the girl
who told my friend to leave me alone.
The email says, is someone named John harassing you?
Because it's happening to me too,
and I think we should work together to stop this.
Wait, what?
I answer by saying, I want to believe you, but I don't.
She tells me that John is using her identity
to harass other people with fake emails.
She also tells me that John isn't even his real name.
To her, he was going by a completely different name.
Between John, fake John, Diana, fake Regina,
I don't even know who to believe.
But she tells me she'll prove that she's real
via a video call.
I decide to take her up on it,
and it turns out, she is real. (vocalizes)
Just a regular person like me
who got caught up in some weird entertainment scam.
She was so nice and we actually got to bond
over how crazy this whole experience is.
We both agreed to contact the police and stop this
once and for all.
The next day or so, after talking with real Regina,
my friends, and my family,
I take my story to the police.
You can't see my face right now, but I am rolling my eyes.
They weren't able to do anything, nothing!
I tell them about the emails, the texts,
the coming to my apartment, well, he never came
into your apartment, so, there's nothing we can do.
What, do you want me to invite him inside for tea?
To be honest, I was pretty defeated by this.
I thought I had this figured out,
but they wouldn't even listen to my full story.
A few days go by, my roommates and I are still
on high alert, especially after not getting
any help from the police.
One day, my roommate is taking out her laundry
to the laundromat.
She closes the front door behind her
and notices a parked car outside of our apartment building.
There's two men in the car.
Now, I had told my roommates what John looks like
so that they would know what to look out for.
It was him, it was John.
He was in the car, parked outside of our apartment
with another random person by his side.
Thankfully, my roommate immediately recognizes him,
drops her laundry, and whips out her phone,
to try to get a picture of his license plate.
They notice what she's doing, and then, they speed off.
After that, I never heard a single thing from him again.
Not from him, not from Diana, not from fake Regina,
nothing.
To anyone who's worried, I've since moved apartments,
and am feeling safe again.
Did I think any of this terrifying stuff
was going to happen to me?
Of course not.
Did I make some mistakes along the way?
Absolutely.
Was it my fault, though?
During the beginning of this whole experience,
I didn't really take it seriously.
I thought I could just ignore it enough for it to go away,
and it ended up turning into something
that put myself, my friends, my roommates,
and my family at risk.
I've always been a very independent person,
rarely asking for help or rarely admitting
when I feel unsafe or scared.
It took a lot for me to admit those feelings
and tell others what had happened.
To anyone who's watching this,
please be careful, watch out for yourself,
and if you ever find yourself in a similar situation,
please tell someone.
(dramatic music)