This morning New York City proved something to me that I pretty much already knew:
I can never go undercover.
This morning I was on the 6, heading to work, and not really paying attention to much beyond Eddie Izzard rambling about castles in my ear. Then I looked up and standing 10 feet from me was one of my friends from college. I kind of stared at him until he looked up. He only looked shocked for a second then gave me a “hey” heads up nod. He got off the train at the next stop, but he waved when he walked past my door.
My story doesn’t end there though. It never does. He texted me to see what I was doing on “his” train. I asked him the same, because I am a smartass, and told him I was going to work. Then he asked me where I live. Turns out, it’s a block from him.
Really New York City? Really?
I can NEVER be a spy now. If I were, it would always be like that scene in Ocean’s Eleven. You know the one I’m talking about.
Saul! Saul Bloom, is that you? Saul! Saul, it’s me! Bucky Buchanan! Remember? From Saratoga? (where coincidentally I spent most summers of my childhood).
That’s how it would be for me. Perpetually. I’d be in Russia, trying to steal the nuclear poison bomb back from some mobster, dressed all slutty but with a knife strapped to my thigh and then I’d hear:
Lauren? Lauren?! Is that you? Lauren, It’s me! Johnny Ruins Your Mission! Remember? From Penn State/North Allegheny!
I mention my high school too because this same train run-in happened in the fall with someone I’ve not only known since high school but since preschool.
I guess I’m destined to a normal life, free of fighting bad guys in cool outfits. Aww nuts.