Turn up the Bass by Rick Andrews

One thing I’d like to get out there—maybe you’ve heard, maybe you haven’t, but there was a thing a few years ago—well, it started as a meme, but it escalated into this real-life thing. It was a picture of me in our living room, standing over my dad with a big fish. Someone took it off my Facebook and added text that said, “Turn up the Bass.” I guess I’m making a weird face in it, and I guess people thought it was funny or something. It got posted everywhere. To be honest, it was a tough year, and everyone at my high school called me “bass boy.” 

But, then, ok—our desktop computer was in the background of the photo, and my dad is a private detective, and I didn’t see it at first, but apparently if you look closely there’s a photo on the screen of this girl who was missing. It wasn’t a photo that was shared publicly; it was one provided to him by the family of the missing girl. Someone on 4chan or something thought that they had figured out that my dad had kidnapped this girl and was taking photos of her. The 4chan people traced the meme back to the first people to share it, made a fake Facebook profile, friended my friend, and then searched through his friends list and eventually found me. Through my name on Facebook, they found out my dad’s real name. Because he’s a private detective, he doesn’t exactly broadcast that online. He has an alias on his website so that he can use his real name to check into places, and it doesn’t come up as a private detective when you Google him, so the 4chan people didn’t put it together that my dad was on the investigative side of things.

They called 911 and said that Ashleigh Rae Wilson was being held at our house, and they sent a SWAT team who broke down our door and arrested my dad and, um, sorry, they—they shot my dog and everything. There was a news crew—I guess some cops sell leads on high profile cases to reporters—so there were these news reports that had to be retracted because as soon as they talked to my dad, they realized that they shouldn’t have rushed over and busted the door down and, um, shot my dog. The city had to pay for the door, and there still might be a lawsuit, or the city might settle, I don’t know. It really messed my dad up, to be honest with you.

I just feel compelled to get it out there right at the beginning, because I’ve had a couple of dates now where the person goes home and Googles me, and well, that’s what you’re going to find, a bunch of weird news stories. If you look, you’ll also see the retractions. One place even did a piece about how damaging false stories like that can be, and they featured me and my dad—my dad has the same name as I do, by the way. I just wanted you to hear all of that from me rather than hearing it from the internet where it’s all confusing and who’s to say which sites come up at the top of a search, you know? They still haven’t found the girl. It’s awful.

Rick Andrews is an improviser, instructor, and writer living in New York City. He has writing published/forthcoming in Ninth Letter, The Normal School, and Emrys Journal, among others.

30 September 2022