Story Telling

I always wished I was a better story-teller. It's not that I'm awful at it, but my stories aren't the most captivating because they tend to become long-winded. And it's not that I don't have any to tell, either, because I like to think that I do.

Here's a story. Recently, I was at a bus stop alone, which is rare because I don't use public transportation often and I don't usually travel alone. But, there I was, returning to campus. On the bus, I pulled out my notebook from my backpack in an attempt to study. I get distracted often, especially around other people. There was a girl, perhaps a little older than me, sitting in the seat directly behind me. "What are you doing?" she asked, peering over the seat. "Studying," I replied. I smiled to be polite, as I often do. Maybe it looks forced. Nevertheless, she stood up quickly and asked if she could sit in the empty seat beside me. She introduced herself as Sandy. 

We chatted for a few minutes during our slow trudge through traffic. She asked me what I had planned for the evening. "Nothing really. Possibly a continuation of this studying..." I trailed off. I don't make good first impressions. Yet, she was grinning. "Get off on this next stop with me," she instructed. I tried not to look so shocked and agreed. What else did I have to do?

When we got off, I realized I wasn't familiar with the area. We must have been least a mile from campus. "Where are we going?" I finally asked. She looked at me and said, "I need your help. Can I trust you?" I nodded without thought, but then asked her why. "Okay, this is gonna sound crazy, BUT I swear it's true," she talked as she flipped her hair up and made a quick ponytail. "It started with this manuscript. I have a friend who is trying to get published; he's, like, brilliant. But his laptop was stolen." I liked her and her eclectic style, so I wanted to believe her. "Did he report it?" I asked. "No, because he's undocumented. He's not like, 'illegal,' he just kinda chose to extend his student visa without permission. Technically," she explained, smacking her gum. I felt complete sympathy for whatever reason. "Okay. You can trust me. So...um...where are we going?"

A few blocks down, we found ourselves in the alley behind a run-down used book store in Los Angeles. At this point, I wasn't sure what to think or even what I was doing. I looked at my phone; it was 6:15. I assumed I wouldn't be returning until much later. My friend and my roommates were texting me, and I lied, playing it off to my roommates that I stayed in the library to study. I was alone, waiting for Sandy to walk outside again. She opened the door, smiling. "Got it," she said satisfactorily. "What did you get?" I still had NO idea. She held up the little slip of paper; it had numbers on it. A phone number. 

"You see," Sandy explained, "when Rick's bag was stolen, his cell phone was also in the bag. And he had a tracking device on the cell phone." Okay...where was this story going? "Rick's been tracking the location of the cell phone. This ice cream shop was frequently showed up. Rick came here the other day, and asked if the store had an employee with black hair and a tribal tattoo on his forearm. That was all Rick saw when his bag was stolen. Sure enough, they did, and said his name was Paul."

"How did you get his phone number?" I asked incredulously. "I pretended I met him at a bar," she half-laughed. "Come on, we've got some breaking and entering to do."

We showed up at Paul's apartment building. Sandy and Rick had been able to find his exact address with his phone number, and were tracking his address with the cell phone minute by minute. I was impressed. We pretended we were residents, walked into the building, and pushed the elevator button for the fourth floor. "What are you doing? His apartment is 511," I said. "We can't look too suspicious," she said. We got out and she immediately dragged me to the stair way and closed the door. She pulled out a bunch of equipment including pliers, a screwdriver, paper clips, latex gloves, some paper and a pen, and her own cell phone. She called who I assumed was Rick. "We're in the building....mmhmm....update on lovely Paul's location?" she talked quickly and sarcastically. "Brilliant. Will call later. Bye." She hung up abruptly and scribbled something on a piece of paper and folded it in half. She handed me the gloves. "Ready?" she asked staring me in the eyes. "What? Why me? I'm going in?!" I stuttered. "Yes, you," she replied. "I can't get in trouble. You said I could trust you."

As you can probably guess, I agreed. I was told what to look for and instructed what to do. Then, Sandy gave me the cue. I ran up the stairs and opened the door into the fifth floor. I waited until the hallway was deserted and picked the lock. It's amazing how quickly that skill can be acquired. I felt the folded note on the messy bed. It took me awhile to locate the laptop bag, but finally I found it inside. I listened with paranoia and ran quickly out of the apartment, and shot the door behind me. I didn't even know what Paul looked like, so how would I know to avoid him! I met Sandy on the first floor.

"You did it!" she said upon seeing me. "I need to call Rick. Brilliant." She sounded completely sincere. I looked at my phone after disposing of my gloves carefully. It was 8:34. "Yeah, can I ask something?" I said. "Sure," she said. 

"What did the note say?"

Sandy smiled. "It said...'Nice try, Paul. XOXO, Sandy.'"

 

Okay, okay...this really didn't happen. Which you already know. I really wish something like this would happen to me, though. :)