The Company of Strangers

The best way to explain this is to pretend that it already exists. So here goes:

Somewhere, in some shadowy corner of the World Wide Web, there lurks a website called “The Company of Strangers”. It does not advertise itself in any way – in fact, it actively shirks publicity – but still, through word of mouth alone (although the URL is always spoken in hushed tones), it has built up a membership of millions. Chances are, at least one or two of the people you know are fully paid-up members, but no-one will ever admit to knowing anything about it. The first rule of “The Company of Strangers” is that… you don’t rip off Fight Club. Dammit, too late. But anyway, I’m sure you get the gist.

When you join – after going through screads of seemingly interminable disclaimers – you will be asked for lots of personal information. Lots of personal information. The Company of Strangers doesn’t care about who you actually are, they just want to ascertain what kind of impact you’ll make as a stranger entering someone else’s life. Are you big and beefy, perhaps even slightly intimidating-looking? Do you typically look “geeky”, or intelligent, or eccentric, or well-heeled? They also need to know where you live, but their strict anonymity policy means that that information will forever remain strictly confidential.

Having joined, you simply sit tight, safe in the knowledge that you now have an army of strangers behind you, should you ever need them. And who doesn’t sometimes need the help of complete strangers? Simply give the Company of Strangers details of what you need, and they’ll search their extensive database and get the requisite members on the case. Want to be hassled by a couple of swarthy guys on the way home from your first date with that special someone and stylishly kick ass in an impressive manner? The Company of Strangers will provide. Or maybe you’re giving a speech at a minor public event – who was that guy who clapped so energetically and started the standing ovation? A fellow Stranger, of course. Your boss says you’ll be fired unless people start buying those strange Guatamalean triple-jumping beans that you personally ordered – suddenly five people you’ve never seen before walk into your shop and walk out with half the stock. Or perhaps you’ve just bought a new coat which all your friends are laughing at – a few random compliments from Strangers would soon silence them.

And in return for all these favours, you also have to do your duty as a Stranger yourself. A cryptic email from the Company of Strangers tells you to be in a certain place at a certain time, and perform a specific task. Company etiquette dictates that you can talk to no-one else about these little sojourns you make into other people’s lives. Still, you don’t just get the endless backup of the Company, you also get to make your life more interesting (and feel like some kind of secret agent) as you act an out-of-character role every now and again, and know that you’re adding a little bit of colour to someone else’s life.

Of course, the website is run on a strictly non-profit basis. Any monies that Strangers might require to carry out their tasks are provided (and re-routed, via an anonymous Swiss bank account, of course) by whoever asked the favour in the first place.

Of course, this service could be easily subverted by criminal types (was it an inside job? Of course not! The raid was obviously made by total Strangers…), but that’s not my intention. Nothing illegal – just little favours, carried out by an army of faceless conspirators…