Whew. That was close.

I got an email on Sunday informing me that my immunity object would no longer be a hat and sunglasses. This time they mean business and told us to wear a wig or risk being offed. But before I get to wig, let me back up to Saturday.

Saturday I had review from 12-5 for a professional responsibility test I have to take in a couple of weeks. (If you're really interested, it's called the MPRE.) At this time hat and sunglasses was still the immunity so I suited up and off I went to school in my "disguise." I spent about 20 minutes roaming the halls looking for the right classroom, but no dice. As I'm doing this I take off my sunglasses because there is literally no one in the halls, and should my assassin approach I can quickly throw them on. Also, it's difficult to see indoors with dark glasses on.

I finally have to look up the room online and discover that it's upstairs in the back corner of the building. I've only got 10 minutes to get there, go to the bathroom, and fill up my water bottle before this crap starts. With a sigh of relief I get to the room and get my book. I took my glasses off briefly as I signed-in with the girl who was giving out the books because to not do so was just too weird. She wasn't from the school and probably had no idea what the hell was going on.

I found an empty seat, stashed my books, and took off for the bathroom - glasses still in hand. This classroom had two doors - since folks were still trickling in the door next to the book/sign-in table, I decided to exit through the other door, which was closer to me anyway. Thank God for windows. Just as I'm about to push on the handle my eyes meet with a tall, blonde dude. Fuck. I don't have on my glasses. In the brief second our eyes meet, I'm sure he's the one after me, he's seen me and has followed me and was looking in for the right moment. Immediately I divert to the other door, throw on my glasses and scurry for the bathroom. He comes walking by and asks, "What class is that?" Me: "MPRE review." (I'm thinking: sucka! you didn't get me! ha! whew.)

I spent the rest of the day throwing on my hat and glasses, looking like a crazy person every time the lecture paused for a ten-minute break. I felt a bit like I'd taken the game out of control, like I was being too neurotic until I received this email in my box the next day concerning another kill (they send periodic updates):
X died at 3:20pm Saturday at the sock of Y. tho i had been misinformed he would be out of town this weekend, i was not discouraged, and managed to find from another friend that he was in the MPRE PR class. on my way upstairs to lurk, my target approached me on the stairs, and bam, that was it for him. i love the thrill of a kill.

Apparently I'm not as paranoid as I thought. I suspect that the man with whom I had the brief eye encounter was the friend who informed Y of X's presence in the class. Fortunately for me, my assassin didn't get me that day, and I survived to get the email on Sunday.

Since I don't have a wig, Jeff and I took a Sunday afternoon journey to the party store to procure one. I remembered to grab one of Jeff's hats from his apartment when we left, because I didn't think I had mine, but when we got to the store I decided there was minimal risk, so I went in completely unprotected - not even with hat and sunglasses in hand in case of emergency, which is how I go to the gym these days. There appeared to be moms and children only, so I thought I'd be ok.


We go to the very back of the store, where the wigs are, and I'm standing there being indecisive as usual. There is a big selection, but frankly most of them sucked. I want a wig like Scarlett Johannson wears in Lost in Translation, but sadly that was not available. Next, I wanted a blue wig of the same bob-like cut. Again, nothing. We've been there maybe 10 minutes, and I'm over-analyzing the decision to death with Jeff, when in walks in a tall, hatted man in sunglasses!! FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. He's playing, too!

Is he my assassin? I think yes. He has been one of my two suspects from the beginning because the second day of the game he was lurking outside my seminar (only 16 people) at 6:30pm when the law school is almost a dead zone. Now, here he is in the party store wig department and I'm immunity-naked. The only thing between me and death is Jeff. I'm at a loss. It's flight or fight and since I've got my sock but he's not my target, I've got to flee.

To Jeff, "Um, I have to leave." From here it's kind of a blur - I've got to maneuver past Jeff, then assassin to make my way to the exit. I was sure he was going to swat me with a sock when I went by, but either he didn't recognize me, didn't have a sock, or I was too fast because I bolted by and down an aisle toward the door.

DAMN IT! I fucking took the wrong aisle. There's a fat lady agonizing over which napkins to buy and I'm going to be slowed down and he's going to come round the corner and get me! Collateral damage lady, I hate it for you, but I'm just going to plow right by you.

As I'm pushing open the door, there is a teenaged boy sweeping the floor. Jeff has almost caught up and is all, "wtf?" and I announce, "I think that guy was my assassin!" just before sprinting to my car.

Safe and sound in my car, I unlock the door for Jeff and he gets in. What to do, what to do? We've got to get lunch, so we can't wait for him to leave. "Jeff, take my money, just go get me the cheapest-non-ugliest wig you can find. I don't care at this point."

And that is how I escape what was surely certain death on Sunday afternoon.

(Oh, and about the wig, I'll perhaps overcome my fear of internet stalkers and post a picture of myself in it if I can find someone with a digital camera to take my photo.)

My lovely hairpiece, courtesy of Jeff. And honestly, this was about as good as it gets. I'm going to be on FIRE.

To make a long post even longer, I end with an anecdote from our daily "Assassins: Tales from the Crypt" email:
I thwarted what may have been an attempt on my life as I was leaving the "Big Libelowski" after-party on Ivy Road. I felt a tug on the ornamental strands of my ski cap--I really should cut those off--and instinctively put my hand to my head to hold it on. Turning around and seeing the perpetrator's outstretched arm, I informed her that brute-force removal of immunity was impermissible, per a previous email. She said "The person who is your Assassin isn't here." She then reached for my cap again. I grabbed her hand and put it into a wristlock (thank you, Master Fielden), stopping only when pushing farther would have caused her to spill the beer she held in her other hand. After releasing the wristlock, I asked her who my Assassin was, and she replied "I am" a few times. She made several more grabs for my cap, but I dropped into a back stance (thank you again, Master Fielden) and blocked all of them. As I left the party per my original plan prior to her interruption, I heard her taking credit for chasing me away from the party, so I went back in, announced "I was leaving anyway," and then left.

Priceless.