Confessions of an Illicit Curler

It was a rainy November night. The fog had cleared and the rain was down to a persistent drizzle. I pulled in to the parking lot, driving straight past the toll booth. Under cover of darkness I pulled into a secluded parking spot and, wrapping my hood around my face, walked carefully towards the door. After I got through the first set of doors I composed myself, walking confidently into the next room.

“What team do you play for?”
“The Surface Tensions?”
“Who is that? Borzutzky? Does that sound right?”
“Sure, that’s it” I flashed him a quick smile. I was sure I had never met a Borzutzky in my life. A second man asked to see my driver’s license. He glanced at it quickly and put a yellow band around my left wrist. I knew I wasn’t going to need it, not tonight. I smiled and walked to my teammates’ table and listened to them talk about upcoming tests and group projects.

It was a cold night on the ice. The ice was patchy and rough and both teams had trouble adapting to the conditions. Halfway through the game it happened. A man in an official looking brown sweater appeared behind me as I set up to throw another stone.

“I heard there was an ineligible player.” He moved closer to me. I could feel the heat coming off his hand as it hovered near my shoulder. “This one. I got a lot of email complaints.” I froze. My teammates were on the other side of the sheet waiting for my throw. The only people near me were two of my opponents. Luckily, they both laughed. “Well obviously; she’s so good.” I laughed too. I hadn’t made a single good throw all night. “Yeah, I’m pretty much a professional.” The man laughed and walked away.

I’m still not sure who the man was. Maybe he was one of our opponents from last week messing with me. All I know is that I need to be more careful to hide my identity in the future. I need to blend in if I am going to complete my mission successfully.

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