...Rock City.
Not many things turn my head in Black Rock City these days. After 12 years of experiencing and participating in the annual techno-rave-art festival-in-the-desert that is Burning Man, I've seen quite a few tricks and tropes. Nonetheless, on this day, I did a double take, then triple take, as I spied six individuals in dark black suits, with shiny shoes, in technically perfect formation just outside the social mecca known as Center Camp.
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| Special Agents in formation @Center Camp, Thurs 13:42 PST GMT-8 |
I inspected them more closely. Each had the tell-tale white coil hanging from their ear, and each had the classic "totally detached and completely aware" look on their face. As I appreciated their theatre, my mind began to race. Inspired, I walked right up to one of them, a woman, and just as with the Buckingham Palace guards, true to form, she didn't even flinch as I deliberately crossed the boundary of comfortable personal space.
And once that feat was completed, I rapidly leapt to the, as it turns out, near fatal assumption that these were merely a bunch of mischievous burners, putting on some decently planned impromptu theatre. Just then, the center of all their attention was revealed to me: the payload. While six agents stood in perfect geometric formation, a seventh walked purposefully and rapidly precisely along the tight security lane they were creating. And, most importantly... that seventh agent was carrying... a briefcase.
Oh, the cleverness of these Burners! Their theatre was perfect! Respect welled in my heart. And I thought, what higher honor could I give them then to add some spice to their performance?... in the natural form of spontaneous interactivity? The fact that they were real secret agents, actually transporting a highly secret and valuable payload across town in broad daylight, didn't even enter into my realm of possibility.
So, as per my impulsive nature of the Now, without further thought, I accelerated into a full-on sprint, and leapt into the fray. Luck was actually on my side; simultaneously, a wild hippie had thoughts along the same lines as mine, and made contact a full second ahead of me. I watched in shock as he was slammed into the ground with violent force and military precision. I had seen this behavior before only once in my life: as a reporter documenting policemen beating peaceful protestors in the streets of Greenwich Village some ten years ago.
But the incident only served to encourage me, as I performed some real-time calculations mid-sprint, and figured that the hippie's failure might gain me a valuable window of distraction. The tall agent with the briefcase stood off to the side, while three agents held the hippie firmly spread eagle on the ground. I leapt in fast, grabbing at the briefcase handle. The resistance was shocking — the briefcase was near immobile; the agent had a grip of steel, his body rock solid like a good acro base. What happened next took me completely off guard.
The agent whipped his head around to face me as he pulled hard on the briefcase, and asked with a mean sneer: "You wanna get BEAT?!?" My jaw dropped at the implied malice of the question, as I continued to tug playfully on the briefcase. And as I stood semi-stunned processing his query, he reared back without hesitation and planted a full-on Chuck Norris kick into my upper ribcage, sending my body completely airborne... with both a stab of searing pain to my ribcage and a massive surge of adrenalin to my brain and heart.
A brief staredown followed, where I foolishly considered either going for the briefcase again or counter-attacking, simultaneously sizing him up: at around 6'4", 220, I quickly came to reality about the rib-cracking force of the kick and the agent's clear resolution, theatrical or not, to protect his payload at all costs.
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| Special Playa Agents leap into action. Payload: secure |
I was in complete shock. It may have been theatre, but my god... it was dead serious theatre. Krista commented with clarity: "Wow, this really is a place where adults can live out any fantasy they want. And that makes this city... a Very. Dangerous. Place."
I continued to roll around in my head the possibility that they were actors, the possibilty that they were actual secret agents, and the particulars of what had just occured, all while moving slowly and carefully as needles of pain and reality shot through my freshly damaged ribcage.
EPILOGUE
Fast forward 96 hours. We're in the car, waiting in the interminable line for Exodus with Melissa and Richard. Melissa begins to tell a very surprising story. In her own words:
"...so during one of my adventures, I walk up to this middle-aged man wearing a suit, sitting in Center Camp with a black briefcase on his lap. Curious, I enter into a conversation with him. As we chat, he mentions that he is the "Banker of Black Rock City." When I ask him what that means, he simply gestures for me to reach into the briefcase, and instructs me to pull out whatever I find. So I reach in, and feel a tight stack of paper... I then proceed to peel one off the top. When I bring my hand out, I look, and to all appearances it looks to be a fresh, crispy $100 bill, with the iconic Burning Man icon stamped upon it. At first I think its a prank, but then I sense that it has that telltale crispy currency texture and weight, and it looks really real... I look around, and everywhere around me there are people, each holding various amounts of cash... and smiling"Back in the car, hearing this, I call her bluff, and ask to see the bill. She digs in her pack for a moment, and sure enough, hands me a bona-fide USA Ben Franklin $100 bill.
POSTSCRIPT
On the airplane home, I am casually reading the Events Guide. I stumble upon this passage: "At an as yet undisclosed location, we will present a black briefcase containing $39,000 in cold hard U$ cash, distributed amongst 250 sealed envelopes each containing a random amount. The envelopes will be gifted on a first-come-first-serve basis to all participants, with the intention of battling the Myth of Capitalism." At first I think, oh, that's a good playa prank. Hahahaha. Let the suckers come. And then I remember the agents... and then I remember the bill...
And suddenly, all the threads converge,
and I will state for the record:
Where ever you are in the world — at a theatre, or in New York City, or at Black Rock City — if you see highly trained Secret Agents moving in tight formation and protecting a payload, think twice before attempting to attack them.
And for those of you who would never think of attempting such acts in the first place:
Enjoy the Show.
That is all.
