Daniel Conderman 
The older homeless man leans back on his milk crate, his face lit by the glow of a nearby streetlamp. A few curious passersby pause to listen as he begins. His voice is low and gravelly, the kind of tone that suggests he’s lived through worse than most.
“You wanna hear a real horror story? Not the kind with monsters or killers, but the kind that creeps in quietly. A slow, steady unraveling that takes everything from you before you even realize it’s gone. Yeah? Then lemme tell ya about Elliot and his cursed plate.”
The Rise of a Golden Boy
“Elliot was one of the good ones. Smart guy, kind heart. Ran a company called Diddle-E-Do Music—big deal back in the day. They made jingles, catchy tunes, all that stuff. Their slogan? ‘Diddle it!’ Cute, right? The kinda thing people remembered. Elliot had everything—money, respect, family. Hell, even his competitors liked him.
“But then he got this idea, a dumb little idea that didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. He thought it’d be funny to put his company’s slogan on his license plate. Went down to the DMV, filled out the form: DIDDLEIT. He figured it’d be great for marketing.”
The DMV’s Mistake
“Here’s the thing about bureaucracy: it’s a machine. No feelings, no common sense, just gears and paperwork. The DMV flagged his request—said the plate could be interpreted as offensive. Fine, whatever. But instead of rejectin’ it outright, the system did somethin’… weird. Some kind of glitch. It didn’t just deny the request; it assigned him a plate that said ‘REJECTED.’
“That’s right. Big, bold letters: REJECTED. Official as can be. And because it was generated automatically, it went straight into production. A couple weeks later, the plate shows up in the mail. Elliot? He laughed it off. Thought it was kinda funny. ‘Guess the DMV’s got a sense of humor,’ he said. He slapped it on his car and went on his way.”
The Dominoes Start to Fall
“But here’s where the horror starts. See, in this world, everything’s connected—your car registration, your taxes, your insurance. It’s all tied together by computers talkin’ to each other behind the scenes. And that plate? It threw a wrench in the whole system.
“First, his insurance flagged it. Their system couldn’t verify the plate because ‘REJECTED’ didn’t fit the format. They sent him a letter sayin’ his policy was invalid. He called them up, explained it, and they ‘fixed it.’ Or so they said. A week later, he got pulled over—cop said his insurance wasn’t valid. The system said his car didn’t exist. Took hours to sort it out.
“Then the IRS got involved. His business filings? Flagged. His personal taxes? Flagged. Every time the government tried to cross-check his plate against his records, the system spat it back out. ‘Error: Record Not Found.’ Suddenly, his deductions got rejected. His refunds got frozen. And when he called to sort it out, you know what they said? ‘It’s probably just a glitch.’”
The Invisible Machinery of Life Turns on Him
The man leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if revealing a terrible secret.
“You know how many things depend on your plate bein’ right? Parking tickets. Toll booths. Credit reports. Hell, even your voter registration. It’s all connected. And every time Elliot’s plate showed up in one of those systems, it broke somethin’.
“The toll system marked him as unpaid, so they sent collections after him. His credit score tanked. Bills he paid on time? Marked as overdue because the plate tied to his auto-pay account didn’t match. He tried to refinance his mortgage—denied. Why? Because the lender couldn’t verify his car loan, which was flagged as inactive.
“And the worst part? Nobody could fix it. Every time he called, they’d say, ‘It’s just a system error,’ like it was no big deal. But the errors piled up. One by one, they chipped away at his life.”
The Social Fallout
“Then it got personal. The DMV reports your registration to local police, right? Well, their system said his car wasn’t registered. So one day, they impound it. Right there in the grocery store parking lot. Now, Elliot’s a guy who takes care of his family, his friends. But when they hear his car got impounded? When the IRS starts sniffin’ around? People start askin’ questions. Rumors start spreadin’.
“His friends—his real friends—stuck by him at first. But when the cancellations started—his credit cards, his business accounts—they couldn’t help but wonder. His wife? She loved him, but you try explainin’ to someone why you’re suddenly broke and under investigation. It wears on a person.”
The Collapse
“It didn’t happen overnight. That’s the thing. It was slow, like a song that starts sweet but ends sour. His business fell apart. Clients didn’t wanna work with a guy who couldn’t keep his books straight. His employees quit, one by one. His wife left, took the kids. Said she couldn’t live in the shadow of his ‘bad luck’ anymore.
“And the plate? It stayed on his car, right to the bitter end. He tried to get it replaced, but the DMV kept sayin’ the same thing: ‘We’ll look into it.’ Weeks turned into months, months into years. By the time they finally offered him a new plate, it didn’t matter. Everything he had was gone.”
A Warning
The man looks up at the small crowd that’s gathered around him. His eyes glint in the dim light, a mix of anger and pity.
“So that’s it. That’s the story of Elliot and his cursed plate. All because some damn machine stamped the wrong word on a piece of metal. You think you’re safe, livin’ your life, doin’ everything right. But all it takes is one little glitch, one cog in the machine to slip, and the whole thing comes crashin’ down.
“So, if you ever think about messin’ with the DMV, just… don’t. You might end up like Elliot. And trust me, nobody wants that.”
