When I see LeBron enter, I know I’m in over my head. Security is tight. This is a who’s who of the sporting world. There are bodyguards milling about, and there are probably more than I can even recognize.
If I try to sneak in, I’m going to get ejected faster than Brandon Nix when his mouth starts going.
Seriously, he holds the USSL record for most red cards in a season.
Think. Think. Think.
There’s got to be something I can do. Some way to find out news to report. Hell, I just need to make a fifteen-second ClikClak. Then, I hear the name. My ears tune in, only able to decipher a few things. But it’s enough.
“Michael Jordan, new line.”
With security so tight, I can’t even get into the bathrooms on this level. I take the escalator down to the fourth level where I rush to the bathroom and pull out my phone and quickly log in toThe Looking Glassaccount. I position the camera so it only gets the side of my jaw, my ear, and my shoulder.
Christmas may be over and done with, but there’s one more thing you will want to add to your list for the upcoming year. Word on the street is that His Airness himself will be announcing a new line for the upcoming season. What will it look like? Place your guesses in the comments. As soon as I get more information, I’ll be sure to let you know!
With the vague positioning and the use of a voice filter, I’m sure no one will recognize me, which is part of the assignment. I wonder how long it will take for anyone atThe Looking Glassto even see that I uploaded a video.
A text alert on my phone indicates I won’t be wondering for long.
Gunther: Brilliant tidbit. Keep ’em coming.
Me: I can’t actually get into the event. I need a pass. Any chance there’s one waiting for me at the desk?
Even as I type it, I know the answer.
Gunther: Oh, you Americans and your sense of humor.
Great.
Gunther: But, we do have other staff members—and prospective staff members—there. You don’t want to let them scoop you.
No pressure whatsoever.
All I need to do is find a way into that room. I glance in the mirror, hoping I’ve magically transformed into a sex kitten or puck bunny or some other siren that some stud would find irresistible.
Nope, still me.
I mean, I look okay for me. Not as good as when Carlos paints my face on but better than when I’m at work. But probably not enough to fake seduce someone into adding me as their plus one.
Letting out a resigned sigh, I leave the security of the bathroom to mill about, hoping to hear more gossip. If I can’t successfully eavesdrop, this whole thing will stop my career before it even starts.
