So You Think You Can Stalk, Part II

The self-applied pressure was intense. Don't lose him, I admonished myself. But don't get too close; don't be too obvious! You don't want to botch this rare sighting! Admittedly, the situation was turning a little too Steve Irwin (a.k.a. "the Crocodile Hunter"), but there was no turning back: I would get a photo with Ryan Conferido.

I had to stay close enough to keep my prey in view; trailing too far behind risked losing his rather compact frame in the herd of shoppers who had gathered at the watering hole late on a Saturday afternoon. But following too eagerly was equally dangerous: I didn't want to be noticed, lest I be mistaken for a "stalker"...

Actually, some part of me was resigned to the fact that my actions basically constituted low-level stalking, but nothing that would warrent a restraining order or psychological evaluation. Still, I feel very averse to the appellation "stalker"--there's so much social stigma attached to that term, and I'm pretty sure it must be proscribed somewhere in the legislation that governs my fine homestate.

Careful follow just far enough behind so as to avoid detection, I tracked the SYTYCD contestant; 15-25 paces seemed to be the ideal distance. I called Linda to tell her about my discovery; talking on my cellphone provided the added benefit of making me appear more natural as I fed my neurotic compulsion. Ryan and crew entered EB Games. Afraid that being in the store would provide unwanted proximity, I waited outside. Afterall, it would be a little too obvious if I followed him in, observed his purchase, then followed him out again. I stood near the entrance to the Disney Store, which provided a good view of the front of EB Games. From this vantage point, I could moniter all who entered and exited (without being directly observed myself by anyone inside the store).

They were inside EB games for what felt like ages; maybe they're testing out some game, I rationalized. I had to call Alvin. What was taking him so long? I phoned Alvin, and inquired about his location. He mumbled something about "Maple". I updated him on the status of my mission, and told him to hurry, because I didn't know how much longer Ryan would be inside EB Games, which is dangerously close to a major mall exit near the food court. A few minutes later, Ryan & Co. emerged from the store, and headed toward the food court exit!

No! my monologue began. This can't be happening! I am so close! Where is Alvin?!? WHERE IS ALVIN!?! I need that camera! I must get this photo! How can I blog about a celebrity sighting without proper proof? This will be a disaster! Govenor Schwarzenegger needs to declare a state of emergency, stat!

I saw some minions of the refreshment stand pointing. "Yeah, that's him," I confirmed as I walked by. He exited, with posse. I followed him out to the parking lot, and watched him get in his car and drive away. I redialed Alvin's cell, and told him Ryan Conferido was gone. Gone was the photo op. Gone was the glory I would have as I relayed this story to my grandchildren, their eyes wide aglow with delight. Gone was the proof that I wasn't just a crazy blogger fabricating the whole incident. :(


<--Here's an provisional photo of me at the mall. You'll notice a bare space where Ryan Conferido should be. We'll fix that soon.



So Alvin and I did some shopping (instead of stalking) at the mall. One retail worker greeted me, "Hey man, what's up?" Is he talking to me? I wondered. When did it become proper form to refer to clientele as "man", or greet us as "hey man"? What's with this casualization? Is he aware that consumers are his source of revenue? that customers should be treated with respect? that in the hierarchy of shopping, shoppers are at the apex?

When I worked retail at BR, I treated customers with deference--to the point of obsequiousness. Even the most irascible curmudgeons were addressed as "sir" or "ma'am", usually in the phrase "yes, sir/ma'am, it is indeed my fault. I'm very sorry--the BR factories have been mislabeling all sizes this season. Our size 32-waists are labelled as '44'. Let me get you a 44." I'm not sure how this casualization began, but it's time to reverse this unnerving trend.

I went back to Alvin's house and sulked a little: I do not like to "lose". This felt like "losing". My goal was to have a photo taken, but my goal remained unrealized. Sigh. Somehow my manifest destiny was derailed. I should have called Alvin first, not Pam! If only I had called Alvin first, he would have had sufficient time to arrive with camera in tow. Then I began planning, scheming. I will win. MY DESTINY WILL BE MANIFEST! The wily wheels in my brain began turning feriously; I would need a plan so brilliant it would make Sun Tzu's The Art of War look like child's play. How could I get my photo with Ryan Conferido?