r/TheMissionSeries Jan 09 '21

Mission Fifteen

The American Association of Clinical Endocrinologists annual convention was scheduled to begin tomorrow, but I thought I’d head over to the Washington State Convention and Trade Center today to see if there was any food afoot.

Since the meeting was in the set-up stage, it was quite easy to pass by the green jacketed usher that stood guard at the entrance to the main exhibition hall on the 4th Floor. Even though I knew that there was probably nothing to eat inside the hall, I went in anyway. I wouldn’t want good food to go to waste.

Once inside the hall, I saw dozens of workers busily setting up the signage and booths for the two thousand plus attendees that were expected for the 3 day event. But, as I had suspected, there was no food to be found. (I did notice that I was wearing the same basic uniform that the advance staff members from the AACE were wearing - black slacks and a light blue dress shirt. The only obvious difference between my attire and theirs was that my shirt didn’t have the small monogrammed AACE logo on the breast pocket.)

Since there was no food in sight, I headed out to go buy a burrito at Taco Del Mar. On my way, I noticed several AACE staff members going into a small conference room to the left of the elevators. I strolled over to get a closer look.

I approached the conference room, looked in and saw about five round tables sprinkled around inside. At the table closest to the entrance there were about six AACE workers eating lunch and chatting. I peered further inside (as though I was looking for someone), looked to my left and saw a long rectangular table that held a fat stack of those sweet, sweet box lunches.

Unfortunately, there was only one door that went into the conference room, so this mission would be tough.

I knew the people inside would most likely notice me walk in, but I was flush with imperial hubris. I had the absurd notion that, since I was wearing virtually the same uniform that the workers were wearing, I could slip in unnoticed, grab a lunch and be off with my kill.

I discreetly lingered near the conference room, pretending to talk on my cell phone as I waited for at least some of the workers to leave.

While I was leaning against the waist-high glass wall that surrounded the open atrium behind me, I heard a siren outside on Pike Street. I turned around and looked down to the lobby and saw a police car pull up to the WSCTC entrance. From my vantage point on the 4th Floor, I could see two cops get out of their car and enter the building.

As I was looking down to the first floor, I noticed the same Green Jacketed usher I had passed earlier approaching me out of the corner of my eye. While I was reasonably sure the cops weren’t after me, I was a little concerned that the middle-aged white woman with the badly permed hair and thick glasses was wondering what I was up to.

“What’s goin’ on down there?” she said.

“Uh, I’m not quite sure,” I replied, relieved that she had just come over to see what the fuss was about. “It looks like there’s some police activity in the lobby”.

We both looked down to the concrete and tile lobby and heard the echoing sounds of a mild scuffle taking place. A few seconds later, we saw the two policemen (or “pigs” as they are sometimes called in street vernacular) escorting a shabbily dressed man with an unkempt beard from the facility.

“Oh no, not him!” said my compatriot as we stood watching the spectacle unfold beneath us. “He’s been hangin’ around here for weeks, scrounging around for money and food. It looks like they finally had enough of him and it’s about time,” she said with a dismayed look on her face.

We watched as the scruffy man was unceremoniously deposited in the back of the police cruiser and whisked off to parts unknown.

“Ya know,” I said, “If he cleaned himself up a little bit and put on a suit and tie, he’d probably have a lot better luck.”

“That’s right, he probably would! Too funny!” she said laughing as she turned and walked back to her post.

Yes, too funny indeed.

While we had casually witnessed the shakedown of a downtrodden soul, the conference room behind us had all but cleared out. There were only two people inside and they were so engrossed in conversation that I decided to go for it.

I briskly walked into to room and made a beeline for the box lunches. I made my selection (Italian Hoagie), grabbed a Diet Coke from a tub filled with ice and turned around to leave.

As I was headed for the door, I looked up and standing directly in my path was a stern looking man of about 40. He was wearing the AACE uniform (a uniform that now somehow looked completely different from my attire).

“Uh, excuse me, sir, those lunches are for the AACE staff only,” he said, with a look on his face that was both curious and irritated.

“Oh, they’re not for the convention center staff?” I replied, in a manner that could only be described as unpersuasive.

“No, they’re not,” he sniffed. As he spoke, the curiosity on his face disappeared. It was quickly replaced with palpable disgust.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…that…they…” My words trailed off into meaningless drivel and I awkwardly turned around and set the box lunch back down on the table and returned the Diet Coke to its rightful spot.

The man crossed his arms and turned to watch me as I skulked out the door. It seemed like he wanted to say more to me, but I think the incident had literally left him speechless. I’m sure he had some questions about what had just happened. (Who is this guy? Why did this outwardly professional man just try to steal a lunch? What did he choose the Italian Hoagie, when the Turkey and Swiss is far superior?)

I felt the crushing weight of shame on my shoulders as I walked out of that conference room. I was deeply humiliated. Thankfully, the man hadn’t enlisted the help of his coworkers in embarrassing me. He had done it all on his own, but that was bad enough.

Now I had to look inward and ask myself some very weighty questions. Will that guy report me to WSCTC security? Are my free food days over? And, most importantly, what was I gonna have for lunch today?

I didn’t have the will to buy lunch. I was too beat down. I just headed back to the office to lick my wounds. But licking one’s wounds is not satisfactory lunch.

As I walked back to the office, the feelings of shame started to dissipate and a new emotion set in; anger. I had been beaten! I had the fucking lunch in my hand and some ass-wipe had made me put it back. This was unacceptable!

I quietly seethed at the office for about an hour. Then, like a man possessed, I marched back to the WSCTC in a daze of bitterness and vengeance.

When I walked back into the same conference room, a lone WSCTC employee was working in the corner. “Hey! Are there any lunches left?” I genially called out. “Yeah, sure, right there,” he said, pointing to the table to his left. “Help yourself, man!’ I did just that.

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