Sorry for the gap between writings. I've been busy. Being Un-retired. Yes, Early Retirement is over for this season. I got a job.
A story for your entertainment...
(Based on a "true" story)
When I woke up this morning I was more mad than I've been in a LONG time. It wasn't true. It didn't really happen. I had one of the most realistic and fantastic dreams in my YOUNG life. Realistic like standing in front of a toilet and peeing the bed because you thought you were really in front of the toilet. THAT real. As fantastic as superhero comics are, as adventurous as little boys' daydreams. THAT is how fantastic this was.
For some reason I was in a school. It had a big opening in the front. Like a cafeteria. Tables for lunch. But it was early evening. And a ton of kids were sitting on the tops of the tables watching tvs. Some 50 yards away was the nearest teacher, except she was also a receptionist. I walked through the front doors past the children; I imagine they're 3rd and 4th graders. They looked away from the cartoon for a quick glance, realized I'm not that exciting, and returned to laughing and staring at the tvs. Some laughed at me. A few were curious. Still others gave the "whatchoo doin hur" look. But most paid me no attention.
Except the receptionist/teacher.
She stopped me in my untucked, yellow polo shirt and board shorts. "Excuse me, sir. I know you're with the Secret Service. I can tell by your outfit that you're supposed to blend in with the kids. But you'll want to go that way. Ms. Adrian Fletcher will be speaking in the auditorium." I instinctively lifted my left pointer and middle fingers to my left ear and mumbled something into the inside of my right wrist. I nodded. And walked away.
The rest of the dream is pointless. Kind of anti-climactic, really. But the point remains. I was a spy. Or at least to the receptionist/teacher lady. Well not really a "spy" per se. A Secret Service Agent. Well I mean, being the President would have been the BEST dream ever. But Bodyguard to the President still looks good on the resume. Admirable. Noble. Loyal. A few rungs down the ladder, but still. Basically, I was the man. Never mind that the only reason the old lady/teacher/receptionist lady knew I was a Secret Service Agent was because I was dressed like a 3rd grader, or that the person needing protection from the Secret Service was the President's brother's daughter and her family. Not quite the President's personal bodyguard, I realize. But the fantasy remains: for a brief moment, albeit in my Subconscious, I was as hard as Jack Bauer.
Thanks, Sub-conscience. Nothing rewards my diehard devotion to or relentless pursuit of Jack Bauer and all things heroic like starring in my sleep as the mistaken, 3rd-grade-look-alike-bodyguard of some guy's GRANDNIECES.
It's not even a word.