Assassins

I did some last minute shopping today for a game of Assassins

I want to take a minute and admit that a game involving stalking and being stalked doesn't seem like my "type of thing."
"I don't know," said Jeremy backstage the other day, "it just seems like not your type of thing."

Whether or not it has been, it is now.

Today I was searching for a few last things to complete my arsenal. The item I needed was unavailable at any of the other stores I went to this week, and so on the way home from work today I stopped into the huge CVS a block away from Pizza Stop. I poured over the shelves, frustrated by the surplus of foam and bubble guns and lack of water shooters.

Finally I saw my only option - a bucket of summer themed toys. "15 pieces!" The cardboard insert boasted. "$20 value for only $9.99!"

I carried the bucket around with me as I shopped for other things. I put it back twice. I didn't really want to pay so much for one little piece of equipment.  I also didn't want to carry a giant orange bucket of toys home on the bus. I looked at the clock and groaned. Without access to email I had no idea if the game had started. Someone could already be waiting for me at a bus stop or street corner. I needed to finish assembling my offensive and defensive plan. I needed to buy the stupid bucket.

I dumped my mouthwash and hairspray on the counter with the bucket. Two teen aged girls entered the store with a toddler and began comparing candy. Then I grinned.

"Hey. I'm going to buy this bucket of toys. I just want the water gun. Do you think he'd want the rest?" I pointed at the toddler.

They stared at me. I tried to see myself through their eyes, a tiny white lady wearing scrub pants rolled up to the knees and a tank top with a stethoscope hanging out of her shoulder bag, gesturing with a big orange bucket, grinning like an idiot to convey good intentions.

"Uh, sure," the older girl said, shrugging at the younger. They resumed their candy consultation.

I paid for the goods, unwrapped the bucket, removed my prize and turned around. The girls looked confused.

"I literally only wanted this," I said, showing them. The rest is yours."

"Oh!," the younger girl said, understanding for the first time. "Thanks so much!" The two girls bent down and offered first pick of the toys to the toddler.

I pocketed my new hand pistol and caught the bus, jogging.

how to get to London

As the plane touched down on one of Heathrow's runways I was fairly vibrating with anticipation.  John, my friend and traveling companion, grabbed our luggage from the overhead compartment. Minutes later I stepped foot, for the very first time,  in the airport featured so prominently as a place of true joy and happy reunion in that classic Everyman movie, Love Actually.

It was everything I wanted it to be. Although no one was there to great us personally, I felt as though England and I would become quite good friends. Thus, we began the second leg of our journey - waiting in queue for approximately a kabillion hours in customs.*

By the time we arrived at Victoria Station  (rail to Paddington, one wrong train, and then the Circle Line to Victoria) we were both exhausted. My inner excitement hadn't waned, but I needed a caffeine fix to make up for the sleep stolen by the Time Zone Bandit.  John doesn't drink coffee, but the traveling had zapped his energy as well. So we checked into the hotel, located an appropriate nourishment vendor, in this case a Costa, and noshed. Coffee for me, tea for John and we were on our way.

Before we bought tickets for a Big Bus,*  and sunscreen (so responsible!) we decided to arm ourselves with Underground Passes for the week.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions, then?" the man behind the counter asked.
 I had asked his advice: Oyster Card for the week? Or daily passes?

"Where do you think you'll be visiting the most of?" he smiled. His English accent was so thick I could have hidden four of Fagen's boys inside.***  I rattled off a list of places, including my intention to visit St. Mungo's.
I told him, "I'm a nurse."

"A nurse!" he exclaimed. Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially.
 "I have kidney stones," he said. "I mean, I'm passing one right now.. hopefully today. But you probably don't want to hear all that."

"I've heard worse," I laughed, "go on."
So he did.

Overhearing this conversation, John approached the counter. The man initially mistook him for a doctor,  ("you medical folk will have a splendid time!" ) but was just as pleased to find out John is a writer.

Not in the country even four hours and we made a friend. Not too shabby, London.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Ah, the romance of the road!
** More on that later...
*** Oliver! jokes!