Free the garden gnomes!

I’m looking for a little excitement. Maybe it’s because the school semester is wearing me a little thin. But it’s probably because I realised that the most dramatic thing that happened to me this week was that I seriously considered crying when I realized that I set the VCR wrong and missed the second part of a vitally important cliff-hanger. I guess I’m just feeling like the universe is on vacation and we’ve all been left to play with our toes.

My stomach is too weak to do anything particularly risk taking, like bungee jumping, line dancing, or driving above the speed limit. I need something more low key, something more stimulating than terror inducing. Something a little more Russian spy than trapeze artist.

So I followed someone. Suddenly, randomly, for no particular reason.

I was walking around Chinatown, slurping a slurpee when this older man inspecting an elaborate display in a store window, caught my eye. He was wearing a cream trench coat and a grey fedora hat. The man was a walking film noir stereotype - he demanded to be followed.

While I very unsubtly stared at him while he looked through the glass, he suddenly turned around and walked decisively away.

So I followed him. He walked past a fruit stand, I walked past a fruit stand. He turned left, I turned left, all the while pretending to know where I was going. I tried keeping my distance, staying on the other side of the street, but if I ever got too close, I’d childishly pretend to look into a store. And like any good Russian spy, I never let him out of my sight.

Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the street and took out a cigarette. He just stood there, taking it in. I kept walking and sat on a nearby stone stool in a tiny Asian courtyard to watch him. And so I watched.

Then, he picked up and started walking. This sudden retreat had taken me by surprise: when I got up I walked into someone. After about an eternity of clumsy apologies, I looked up, but couldn’t find him. I scanned the crowd and finally I saw the walking hat. The crowd parted like the proverbial Red Sea. I took two steps, and as quickly and silently as the crowd had parted, it swallowed my ongoing secret agent operation.

Having failed at my first mission as a spy, I thought I’d be more successful in some kind of covert resistance movement. So I almost stole a gnome, but I wussed out. In case you are one of the many uninformed, garden gnomes are currently being held captive across the country in cold dangerous gardens, exposed to the elements and forced to live solely on water and miracle grow. Gnome enslavement is an important issue with far too little coverage. Still, gnome liberation groups around the world are working together to free gnomes from oppressive gardeners and return them to their natural habitat. I, on the other hand, apparently am not brave enough to help out. I also think I’m a little ill-equipped for gnome saving. I’m 5’1” and don’t think I can stealthily conceal a pointy hat chalk statuette under my coat. Next time I try to participate in the gnome liberation movement, I should seriously consider calling in for reinforcements.

At any rate, if I ever want to make it as a professional undercover agent, I should seriously consider investing in a black jumpsuit as well as a conspicuous looking duffle bag. That, and change my name to Svetlana.