Lunch today started off a bit odd when the entirety of my former programming team walked into the taco shop where I sat, numbered receipt in hand, waiting for my name to be called. We all said hello and smiled at the idea that the one day we didn't plan on meeting for lunch, we had met for lunch.
We grabbed a table outside and ate for about 15 minutes until I heard Kevin ask Jesse: "Do you know that girl?" Apparently, a woman in a pink shirt was waving expectantly at our table from the entrance of the dry cleaning shop behind me. She walked back into the shop as I turned to see her. Our conversation quickly turned back to whatever a half dozen programmers talk about at lunch.
"She thinks knows one of us," Kevin cut himself off mid sentance. This time I turned quickly enough to see the tail end of a little vaudvillian dance routine the woman was performing for us.
"Maybe she thinks she's being followed by the FBI and she's being funny?" postulated one of us as she turned back into the dry cleaner's.
"Dude, you don't dance for the FBI," Kevin answered.
A few more minutes passed and we had just about finished joking about who among us could have forgotten such a spazz, when Jesse called our attention to the girl as she walked back out of the dry cleaner's and up to a group of three 50-something asian men, who -- all three -- turned and stared at us as she spoke. They continued to steal glnces at us as the woman in pink returned, once again, to the dry cleaner.
We were all at a complete loss as to what she could have to say to three older strangers about us. It would have all seemed very funny if not for what happened the next time she emerged from the doorway. This time, she had a neatly handwritten sign in her hands which she held up for us to see:
"Do not ever contact the FBI about..."
Jesse, the only one of us facing the right direction at the right time, didn't quite catch the end of the message before she spun back around and walked into the dry cleaner's for the fifth time.
I, personally, was somewhere between thrilled and spooked. Before I had a chance to figure out which way to go, the woman walked back out of the shop, this time with a friend. They both ignored us and sat down in an SUV. We wondered if she had very suddenly forgotten about us until they pulled away, the woman in the pink shirt waving to us once again from the passenger seat.
What else to do but investigate? Unable to find the three asian men who undoubtedly knew her secret, we waltzed into the dry cleaner's and tried to sound casual as we asked about "the girl with the sign." A woman at a sewing machine told us she thought that girl may have been a bit "coo-coo."
I guess I agree.
Simulation of what it might have looked like if the woman were a naked man instead. (thanks, Travis)