Thieves must pay!

You know what I'm really afraid of? Idea theft. Though I suspect not in the way most people are afraid of it. My fear is less that someone else will steal my ideas, and more that I will accidentally steal other people's.

Whenever something becomes popular there are legions of people on the internet ready to cry foul, and claim that they've stolen every idea they ever had. While the righteous anger of the internet is quite regularly misplaced, in general I'm in favour of a strong culture of anti-plagiarism. I think credit should always find its way to the people who came up with the idea. It always makes me cringe when I see people praising something that I know was stolen from someone else.

The thing that scares me, though, is the possibility that I might be stealing ideas and not even know it.

I have a terrible memory when it comes to attribution. Most of the time it results in hilariously embarrassing situations, but I'm deathly afraid that one day it'll come back to bite me in the arse. I've told stories back to the person who told me in the first place. I've told stories to people that I already told them not ten minutes ago. In a couple of particularly surreal cases I've told an awesome, funny story that I heard somewhere, only to be informed that it was something I wrote.

Thankfully, in most cases, it's clear to all involved that I'm stupid rather than malicious. Instead of anger and retribution, I get met with looks of concerned pity, as if the person I'm talking to is wondering why I was allowed out without my bike helmet.

Possibly the most embarrassing case of attribution error I've ever had was the day I tried to insert myself into someone else's memories. It went a little like this:

Sam: Hey, remember that time you were rushing to get to your school formal?

Friend: What time?

Sam: I was there remember? You had a belt, but it was too long, so you had to use a nail to put in an extra hole. You accidentally nailed your belt to a wooden chopping board. You were already late to pick up your date, and you had to rush around trying to find a claw hammer to pull the nail out.

Friend: Umm, that happened, but you weren't there.

Sam: What the crap? Yes I was. I remember it clearly!

Friend: It was my year 10 formal. I didn't meet you until college. Also, why would you have been there while I was getting ready?

Sam: But... Huh, yeah I suppose that would be kind of weird... I guess we're not as close friends as I thought.

Friend: Don't be like that.

Sam: Can I be in your memories then?

Friend: But you weren't there!

Sam: I know, but can you insert me into your memories so it seems like I was?

Friend: What? That's the stupidest... *sigh* fine.

Sam: Yay!

And we all lived happily ever after.