Blameshifter

I am a superhero.

Now I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes. I don't blame you for thinking I'm a kook. I mean, if you invited me out for coffee and the first thing you told me was "I'm a superhero" I'd have that same look in my eyes and I'd call you a kook too. If it was anyone other than me telling you this, you'd be justified in your criticisms.

Yet here I am. And before you ask: no, I'm not bulletproof. I can't run faster than a speeding train. I don't fly, nor can I stop rogue computer animations with the power of my mind.

My powers are more subtle.

What? You want me to show you? Ah, well see, that's the problem with my little superpower. I can show you, don't get me wrong. It's just that you still won't believe that I've shown you anything.

No, that's not an excuse. Yes, I know extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. I've read Hume, after all.

Okay, fine. You win. See the waitress over there? No, the brunette one. Her name's Anna. She's going to—what? No, my superpower is not guessing people's names, you idiot. It's on her nametag. And before you start, my superpower isn't literacy either.

Now where was I? Oh yes, my coffee. You might want to back up a little so I don't splash you.

Ah, look at that. Coffee everywhere. And everyone's looking at us now. This would really be quite embarrassing under normal circumstances, except: superpower.

Right on cue, here comes Anna. She looks a bit upset, wouldn't you reckon? I mean, I just spilled coffee all over her nice clean table—and I did it on purpose too! Even got some down into the sugar packets. They're gonna have to toss those now. Anna's probably thinking that she doesn't get paid enough to deal with customers like me, what with having to work two shifts and spend her evenings at the community college.

What?

No, my superpower isn't being psychic. It's just, look at her. She's screaming twenty-year-old college student if she's saying a word. Oh wait, she is speaking: "Did we have a little accident?"

Oh, please. The table's drowning in coffee. "Accident" describes this table about as well as "ancient Greek amphitheater."

I look her in the eye. Not because I need to for my superpower to work, but because it's fun watching the switch. "It's not my fault you spilled the coffee," I say.

Her eyes change in that glorious instant. It's so fast it's hard to glimpse, but I think they may even go through all five stages of grief before they get to the end: acceptance.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries out. Now everyone in the restaurant is looking at her instead of me. Blame has been shifted. No one remembers it was me who spilled the coffee to begin with.

What's that? No, Anna did not spill it. I know. I know you believe that she did it. See, this is why I said I couldn't demonstrate my power to you. After a blameshift, no one remembers what they have just witnessed. They only remember what was told to them.

Hmm, look at that. The manager's coming over.

"I'm so very sorry our staff spilled coffee on you," he says with a pompous air. "I want to let you know that I've comped your meal today, and the employee responsible for this mishap will be let go immediately."

"Hold on a moment," I reply. This sort of thing tends to happen. You know, unintended consequences and all that. I consider myself to be about 90% good—can't claim 100% and I don't intend to. But 90% means I can't let this innocent college student take the fall for something she didn't actually do.

I clear my throat. "Sir, it's not her fault the coffee was too hot and burned her hand."

The manager's eyes widen. "Renaldo! He left the coffee pot on the burner too long again!"

Renaldo. That sounds like a foreign name. Perhaps an illegal immigrant. Whatever. The key point is, he's not going to be a cute college girl. Ninety percent good only gets you so far.

"Thank you. We'll be on our way now."

What's that you ask? Well, I know you don't think I demonstrated my superpower, but... You know, just forget it. It's not my fault you don't remember this conversation.