I crouched behind the dumpster and tried to ignore the pungent odor. I shifted the large bag on my shoulder and as I did, lost my balance. I fell backwards onto my fanny with a thump. I heard a “squish”. I had landed on a mustard packet. After the events of the morning, I wasn’t even fazed by the yellow blotch on the back side of my white capris. It was imperative I accomplish my mission. It was Thursday, and time was running out.
I reached into my bag for my spy glass, but quickly realized I had a tampon up to my eye. I found the spy glass and aimed it at the door of the university library. I looked at my watch.
At any moment my target would descend from the building. I had been through a lot to get to this point.
The morning had begun normally, whatever that meant for a woman in my position. Currently I am training three future leaders. I am responsible for their safety. It is a task I do not take lightly. Today my first assignment was to transport them to their off-base instructional institution by 8:00 a.m.
As I drove them to their instructional institution, they announced their hunger. I pulled into a drive-thru restaurant and ordered three 99 cent breakfast sandwiches and an extra grande mocha cappuccino for myself. I tossed the sandwiches over my shoulder as I pulled back into traffic. I smiled proudly that each of the three were able to catch their sandwich and begin eating without taking their eyes off their detective training video, “Blue’s Clues”, which was playing on the car’s DVD player.
We were half way to the school when someone yelled out, “I have to go potty.”
“We’re almost there,” I responded, trying to gage the seriousness of the situation.
“I have to go NOW!” The young one demanded. I knew the tone. He meant NOW. But I’m not a rookie and I was prepared. I carried a potty chair, an essential survival tool, in my car. I pulled into a gas station parking lot and the young protégée did his business. Both kinds, I might add. We then proceeded toward our destination, this time with the windows down.
We had made it a few more miles down the road when I heard a small voice say, “It stinks in here. I think I am going to be sick.” I evaluated the threat level and determined that action was required. No problem. The windows were already down. I knew I must make the ultimate sacrifice. I quickly emptied my extra grand mocha cappuccino out the window and handed the young boy my cup. He knew the drill and threw up in the cup. Thankfully, I had ordered an extra grande coffee because he filled that baby up. He passed the cup back up to me and I returned it to the cup holder, making a mental note not to sip from it again. That’s a mistake you only make once.
The rest of the ride proceeded without incident. As I watched my three trainees enter the building safely, me cell phone rang. I knew from the caller ID read out that it was my greatest ally calling. She was assisting me in a very important mission.
“I have a name,” my ally began. “I wouldn’t give you this information if I didn’t trust you completely,” she continued. “Guard this information with your life and do not share it with anybody. I have it from a good source that others are on to her as well, so you have no time to waste. She’s studying at the library right now, but she has class at 8:15, so she won’t be there long.”
I couldn’t risk someone getting to her before me. I had to cut her off between the library and class. I hit the gas, sloshing the contents of the potty and my coffee cup. It didn’t matter. I must accomplish my mission.
That’s why I was crouched down behind the dumpster waiting for my target to leave the library. I spotted her as she walked out of the building. I jumped up, dusted myself off, and started across the street toward her.
“Kara,” I yelled. The girl looked momentarily confused and then I saw recognition flash in her eyes.
“Hello, Mrs. Smith. What are you doing here?” Kara asked.
“Can you babysit Friday night?” I asked.
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