Please Let Me Join Your Heist

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/16/opinion/please-let-me-join-your-heist.html

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You’re organizing a heist, and I want in. Here’s what I bring to the table:

I am small. I know you want people who can hide in cramped spaces, and while I cannot do this because I am mildly claustrophobic and prone to screaming, I just want to let you know that I am small. It’s who I am!

I can tread water for up to two minutes. I can make it to three minutes on a good day, given that I have not eaten a cheeseburger in the past hour. If you need me to do this to cross a moat into a castle or whatever, let me know ahead of time because there’s always a good chance I’ve eaten a cheeseburger.

Though I am not qualified to be the team’s hacker, I did take calculus in high school and passed the AP exam. This means that I have no idea how to apply math skills to real-world things, but if the actual hacker needs a hand plugging and chugging some equations, I can do this with relative ease when provided with a graphing calculator and relevant batteries.

I’m great at moving like I’m in a heist. You know — intentionally but casually. That’s how I walk every morning to the coffee shop where I have a crush on the barista, Tad. If you don’t believe me, come watch me interact with Tad. He has no idea I have a crush on him because I have nailed down this “intentional but casual” thing and because I am terrible at flirting.

You need someone to scope out a museum? A casino? An Equinox gym with too many fitness rooms? I’m your gal. I have gotten lost in almost every building I have been in and have successfully escaped from all of them so far, including Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon. Buildings with numerous floors are the most difficult because, like in a David Mitchell novel, keeping track of multiple stories is hard.

I can maintain a fake identity extremely well. For example, Tad the barista thinks my name is Sandy, which is what I blurted in a panic when I first ordered coffee six months ago. I never had the courage to correct him, so he still thinks my name is Sandy and knows nothing about me because I lose my ability to speak whenever he asks questions. He knows nothing about me, yet I know everything about him (tall; brown hair; works the morning shift on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays). Isn’t that useful?

Not having a license means I cannot be the getaway driver, but I have had practice giving directions really well. I can also recount some movies verbatim (like “Daddy’s Home” and “Daddy’s Home 2”) in case the car chase lasts longer than expected and people grow bored. I’m always encouraging and cheery, like Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Twitter feed but in real life.

Why do I want in? Not for the money. Nor the glory. Nor the adrenaline. I’m already wealthy and glorified, and have a chemical imbalance that gives me constant adrenaline-based migraines. I want in because I am terrible at everything else I’ve tried and, consequently, am deeply bored with my life.

If you need to reach me, I’ll be at the coffee shop on Fulton Street, sitting at the booth near Tad but not too close because that would be obvious, and I am good at being secretive. Just remember to call me Sandy, O.K.?

Thank you for considering me.

Sincerely,

Karen (or K-dog? What’s a good con nickname? We’ll have to think of a fun one for me.)

Karen Chee (@karencheee) is a comedy writer and performer based in Brooklyn.

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