The final mission
OK. I've been working my little ass off all week to get stuff done for one reason: I am moving across the country in three days. Actually, make that two reasons: I'm moving across the country, and I HAD to carve out a couple hours to go to my coffee shop one last time. I'll be with the movers all day Friday and I'm sure I'll be running around like a crazy person doing last-minute stuff tomorrow, which left today. Today has been a hard-ish day. Last night, a bunch of old coworkers threw a happy hour for me (which stretched into almost five hours!) and way more people came than I expected and it was really sweet and fun but also made me sad, and then I had a dream about someone I really love but am not around anymore, and that made me sad, and then I was sorting through the hard stuff today, the sentimental stuff, and THAT made me sad. So it's been a little bit of a sad day.
All day I kept telling myself one thing to make myself plow through my sort of sad, sort of hard day: YOU HAVE TO GO TO YOUR COFFEE SHOP THIS AFTERNOON. You know how much I love my coffee shop. It is the No. 1 non-living thing I am going to miss most about this place (second, the college radio station, which I have been listening to nonstop). So I plowed through and went out into the traffic and the pouring rain to go hang at my happy place one last time.
I finally just walked in and ... YOU WILL DIE. OK, no, you won't, but I almost did. The CIA agent is here! He hasn't been here in MONTHS! Is that not downright POETIC? My last time at the coffee shop! He totally recognized me and did a little half-smile at me when I went up to the register. And then he remembered that, HELLO! He's a top secret spy, he's not supposed to smile! Have you ever seen Jack Bauer smile? No, you have not. So he caught himself mid-half-smile and put his "intense face" on again.
(I love that I'm talking like it's this amazing coincidence we're both here at the same time on my last day. Of COURSE it's not a coincidence. He's probably been tracking me for months as part of an investigation into girls who blow the covers of secret agents on their blogs.)
You know I took some pictures. I am so damn smooth sometimes, I kill myself. I was standing at the register talking to the girl and she's all, it's so sad you're leaving, and I'm like, oh, you're telling me, I've been a wreck all day, and while we're doing that I take out my camera, turn off my flash and snap two pictures of him like it was nothing. YEAH! The pictures totally suck, but whatever, they are still pictures and I will totally post them as soon as I get home.
In the meantime, I have caught him looking at me like three times. He must know it's his last chance to ask me to go on a SUPER-SECRET SPY MISSION with him! Either that, or he's like, why in the hell does that girl with ratty unwashed hair keep turning around and looking at me. Either/or. I will keep you posted.
Update: He just got up to get more coffee! I took a picture of his ass! He did a FULL smile on his way back! HELLO, IMPORTANT GOVERNMENT MISSION, HERE I COME!
Update 2: He just looked at me again. IM with Manic Mom: "SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE TO TALK TO HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM HE IS SECRET AGENT MAN!!!!!!!! GO UP TO HIM AND SAY, 'IF YOU TELL ME NOT TO MOVE, I SO WON'T!' "
Update 3: Now Manic is on the phone: "GO HAND HIM THE PHONE AND SAY 'IT'S FOR YOU!' JUST WALK OVER. YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE!"
Update 4: I do not do either of those things because a) I am a world-class wimp and b) I am not really sure how to explain to someone that I've been blogging about his very secret career to the World Wide Web for the past year.
He is on the phone right now and he keeps looking at me. Option A: "Seriously, there's messy chic and then there's THAT. When did she last wash her hair, 1997?" (Yesterday! Yesterday is not THAT long ago!) Option B: "We are SO BUSTED! She's onto me! ABORT! ABORT!"
At this point, it's a toss-up. If a little more time goes by and you don't hear from me, you can assume that I've been tossed into the back of his black Lincoln Town Car for questioning.