You know when it’s your last day, and you’re just in chill mode? It’s your last day of high school, so you break dress code. Is Mr. Cole gonna send you home now? I think not. It’s your last day of genetics at UTM, so you show up late. Is Dr. Collins gonna kick you out now? I think not. Actually, yes, yes, he would. It’s your last day at your job, so you don’t wear makeup. Is your boss gonna fire you? I think not. So it’s my last day at work. I’m in that ‘last day’ mode. When I remember I have to attend a networking event at the local high school. Great. Thankfully I have Harry Potter in my car so I can reread that for the 17^th time to kill time. I don’t want to network.

I make it to the school and set up our booth. I’m not gonna lie, for not caring, I’m impressed. I scope out the other booths. Mine’s the most decorated. To the right of me is a yoga studio and to the left is a construction company. Easy competition. I pull out my Harry Potter book and start reading.

Once the crowd starts pouring in, I sadly say goodbye to Sirius Black once again and greet the crowd. After thirty minutes of heavy traffic, the crowd dies down. I sit back down at my booth and observe my surroundings. The yoga women are gossiping about body wraps and kale. Boring. I turn to my left. Middle-age construction man. Attractive. Reserved, from my observations. Wedding ring. I’m like a wedding ring sniper. That’s the first thing I catch myself looking for. I sound like a dog in heat.

Anyway, a second crowd is straggling in, when I notice a Kylie Jenner lookalike. Perfectly drawn eyebrows. Middle hair part. Perfectly lined lips. Super-revealing outfit which consisted of a grey sleeveless crop top and black leggings. Remember, I’m at a high school event. The crowd consists of high schoolers and parents. I remember when I was in high school, American Eagle and Abercrombie were the brands you wore. I preferred the jeans my mom would starch and my soccer t shirt. Kylie Jenner wasn’t an idol. I was lucky to wear pressed powder from Clinique. So I was in awe to see this in high school now. Don’t get me wrong, she looked really pretty, but I was shocked to see it, none the less. And so was my construction neighbor.

As I watched Kylie walk past my booth, my eyes weren’t the only ones following. I looked at construction man. And more shock ran through my body. This middle-aged man had his phone out and was recording the girl walk by. And not just filming her, but specifically her butt. Yes, I know, gross.

I pull my book back out to pretend I was reading more about Sirius’s death, but in reality it just served as a delusion. I was really scoping this man out. As the girl exits our line of vision, I watch this Ted Bundy watch his homemade video. Fourteen times. Yes, fourteen. I flip a page. Then he clicks the ‘send’ icon and I watch him type in a name in the ‘to’ box. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he’s just sending it to his wife and he’s saying, “Look honey, look what this young girl wore to school. Can you believe it?” But then I think, “Wait, why did he rewatch it? Why was it a video of just the butt?” Hmm.. My investigation continues.

After hitting send, I hear ‘DING.’ And Ted pulls out another phone. Hmmm… That’s strange, I think. He types in a passcode for this phone and opens messages. Low and behold there’s the home video. You’ve got to be kidding me, I think.

He watches it from this new burner phone I’ll call it, and he grunts.

Ohmigah, ohmigah, ohmigah. What am I going to do?

I flip a page so he doesn’t get suspicious.

He wasn’t texting his wife! He was sending himself the video! What should I do? Confront him?

I can picture Teresa Guidice flipping his table and screaming, “You prostitution whore!”

I can picture Donald Trump screaming, “But it was YUGE!”

I can picture Katniss running after the girl screaming, “No!! Not Prim!”

But what does Lisa do?

Well as my luck would have it, two high schoolers walk in that I happen to work with. I feel compelled to tell them that Ted Bundy is sitting next to me and filmed a minor and watched the action 14 times. I decide to tell them, and I leave it from there. I don’t know the video girl personally, so that’s why I decide against telling her. These girls go to school with her so they should relay the message.

It feels like time is frozen. Then the Kylie Jenner crew comes out of the gym. She must’ve gotten the message. She’s heading toward my booth area. I immediately “piggy-back my ass up” as Kandi would say and head to the concession stand. Sour skittles never sounded so good.

I give the booth the side eye from the concession stand and see these group of girls confronting the man. I start regretting my decision. Was it my place to do this? I flash back to a seminar at UTM where a video was played for all attendees. Don’t be an innocent bystander was the seminar’s message. I felt compelled to say something. But did I make the situation worse?

I make my way back to my table once the girls leave and immediately start packing up the booth. If I was to be a spy, I wasn’t being a good one. Why, you ask? Well, because I left during the middle of the drama which is a dead giveaway that I was the drama initiator. Secondly, I exited after the drama ceased. Another dead giveaway.

I think Ted is on to me, because he starts packing up his booth, too.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He’s talking to me. What do I do?

After my neurons fire off, I reply, “No, thanks.”

I mean, I’m creeped out so my instinct is to be short and leave the situation as soon as possible.

Then spy neurons fire off.

“Lisa, you can’t make it obvious that you know he filmed this girl. Cause then he’ll know that you started it all,” I think to myself.

So I look over at construction man and say, “Actually, yeah I need help with this table. It’s kinda heavy.”

“No problem,” he replies as he starts breaking down the table legs.

As soon as everything is packed up I immediately head out of the door. Low and behold, guess who’s behind me? Yep, Ted. Well, after watching “Homeland” for six seasons, I’ve mastered most of Carrie Mathison’s spy skills. (Plug, if you haven’t watched “Homeland” before, start it now.)

With my master spy skills, I decide to walk to a different car and pretend it’s mine. I set my stuff down and fumble around for keys. Now this sucka can’t memorize my license plate and do more psycho Ted Bundy stuff. Smart, I know. Obsessive, I know. Psychotic, possibly.

When I make sure he gets in his truck, I meander over to my car, throw everything in as fast as possible, pour the rest of the sour skittles in my mouth, and drive home.

The moral of the story is, do what you feel is right. I felt compelled to let this high schooler know because I would want to know if someone was filming me without consent. And sour skittles will never do you wrong if you need to get out of a sour situation. Trust me.