The "I Know My First Name is Steven" Switch
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On December 4, 1972, seven-year-old Steven Stayner was walking home from school alone. Because that’s something we used to be cool with 7-year-olds doing.
On his way home, a man approached him, gave him some religious material, and asked him if he thought his mom might be willing to donate some money to the church. Steven said yes and started walking home with the man to take him to meet his mother.
As they were walking to Steven’s home, another man pulled up in a car and offered to give them a ride because it had been raining. They agreed and got in the car with this other man.
Thus began the 7-year abduction of Steven Staynor. It was seven years of abuse and brainwashing, followed by an escape, a tragic early death, and a brother who turned out to be a serial killer.
It’s a crazy story, worth looking into if you like that sort of thing.
As awful as it all is, there was something somewhat clever about the abduction itself.
If you want to take a kid off the street and drive him to your house half an hour away, that’s not an easy task. The kid might run away, or yell and scream for help. And even if you do just manage to talk the kid into your car, there’s going to be a minute or two where you have to convince him to get in. When the kid shows up missing later, people might remember him talking to someone in a white Buick on that day.
So the kidnapper’s ploy was kind of smart.
He got a dimwitted friend to approach the kid on the street and pose as someone raising money for the church, and then ask if he could walk home with the kid to speak with his mother.
Now, a 7-year-old is most likely not going to be savvy enough to find this too suspicious. He’s not asking the kid to come away with him. In fact, he’s saying, “Take me to another adult—your mother.” That’s going to feel relatively safe.
Later on, when the car pulls up, there doesn’t need to be a discussion to get the kid in the car. The kid is just following along with this first guy that he now feels he “knows” in some way.
I know what you’re thinking…
But, Andy, how do we use this type of deception to switch a Rubik’s Cube?
A couple of newsletters ago, I said that I’d describe a technique I use for switching Rubik’s cubes (or any larger objects that might be hard to switch).
This is what I consider an “Everydayness Technique.’ That is, it doesn’t rely on some secret magic method, it relies on the seeming common-ness of the interaction to lower people’s guards.
Here’s how this one works. Assume I’m in a living room situation. Sitting on a couch with someone.
I have them mix up a Rubik’s Cube and hand it to me. “Let’s find a white corner piece,” I say, and rotate the cube around until I find a piece with a good mixture of other colors on that side. “This will work.”
I look to the end-table on my side of the couch, then turn back to them. “Is there a marker on your side?” They quickly look on their end-table and see nothing.
I get up and walk to a shelf on the other side of the room and move some objects around as if I’m looking for a marker there.
“Uhm… hold on,” I say.
I take a few steps into the kitchen, open the junk drawer, and come back with a Sharpie.
Of course, I also switched the cube for another one while I was in the kitchen.
Yes, I know, “leaving the room” doesn’t seem like a very clever way to switch something. But I’ve had shockingly good luck with this. Perhaps it’s too stupid for people to even consider, but in the theories I’ve collected from people regarding how a trick was done, they have yet to suggest I switched something while out of the room.
Here’s why I think this works. The implication is that if there was a marker near them or me or on the other side of the room, I never would have left the room. And if I can pull off that bit of casually looking for a marker, then their guard is down for when I step out of the room for a couple of seconds. (It’s best if they can still see and hear you somewhat.)
I’m not asking for the Rubik’s cube (or whatever) and then walking out of the room. I happen to be holding the Rubik’s cube when the need for a marker compels me to step out of the room.
Looking for the marker while I’m in the room is the part they’re pretty comfortable with. It’s the guy who walks up to the kid and says, “Can we go talk to your mom?”
But now that they’re comfortable with that part, the part that they might find sketchy otherwise (leaving the room aka “get in the car”) is easier for them to accept because it naturally follows something they’ve already bought into.
When using this switch with a Rubik’s cube, I like to identify a white corner piece I want them to initial before the switch. It’s a small thing, but I think it suggests it’s the same cube when I point out the white corner again where I want them to initial. It’s a small bit of fake continuity.
A couple tips:
To be clear, you need to choreograph it so the object is in your hands when you realize you need to step out of the room. You can’t decide to leave the room and then grab the object.
To take this technique to the next level, dry out a Sharpie. Now you can be very intentional by presenting them with the object and the Sharpie from the start. When it turns out that Sharpie doesn’t work anymore, you can look around the room, and then quickly step out with even more justification.
I developed this technique originally—and it works very well with—the concept of Anchored Deck Switches. For example, I have you shuffle the deck and I force the 4 of Clubs on you. I ask you to sign it, but can’t find a marker or it’s dried out. I step out of the room, deck still in hand, and switch the deck for a stacked deck minus the 4 of Clubs. The 4 of Clubs that gets selected from the shuffled deck and placed back into the stacked deck is the “anchor” that suggests this deck is only deck in play. The fact that the switch takes place as you leave the room with motivation to grab a marker so they can sign the only card they care about is what makes it difficult for them to even remember the deck was really out of sight.