Today, a top secret spy mission at a top secret laundromat.

If you think about it, 
we're all spies...in the pentagon of love.

Your spy clothes had gotten a bit dirty during your last spy mission, so now you decide it's time to clean them. Accordingly, you'll slip on an outfit which you figure will help you blend in with the inhabitants of this city, then bundle up all your clothes and head down to the local laundromat.


Inside the laundromat, all will be it should be. Washers spin clothes about wetly. Dryers spin clothes about dryly. And the people just watch and hope for the best. There'll be no-one here who might recognize you, so you'll step inside and prepare for an ordinary afternoon of laundering.

You'll survey the laundromat for possible alternate exits but there won't be any.  Briefly, you'll consider the idea of establishing some sort of underground railroad to a top secret mountain stronghold but realize that you don't have that kind of time.

The mission calls.

Get some change from the change machine. You already have enough change, but a few people will be watching, and there will be no need to arouse suspicion about exactly how you have acquired the change.

Then you'll survey the scene as you walk over towards the washing machines - about twenty people of various sexes, age ranges and ethnic groupings - most reading or otherwise occupied.  I'll hardly be noticed at all, you'll think to yourself with a devious smile.

You'll notice a young mother and her child who are playing cards while they wait for their washing machine to finish. You won't be able to help but notice that there's no man with them ... and then you'll suddenly realize that nothing else will make a better cover.


"Hi honey and daughter!" you'll exclaim in a loud and natural voice, as you plop down your laundry atop a machine and stand beside the two. "Playing with that deck of cards I got you during my BUSINESS TRIP to New York two years ago, I see," you'll say with a bit of a wink.

The woman will stare at you blankly. Her daughter looks a little nervous.

Damn, you'll think, they aren't catching on.

Here's where you'll open your eyes wide and glare at them in a manner which will express the danger they are all in, and say, "So, how are you today, WIFE and DAUGHTER?"

"Who are you?" the woman will demand in a voice which is slightly too confused to be truly angry.

The daughter will put down her hand and begin moving towards her mother's arms. She looks as if she might cry.

"I am your husband ... a NORMAL, ORDINARY BUSINESSMAN named Lance Puttnam...HONEY," you'll say, taking a quick look over your shoulder to perform some minor damage assessment.

About a dozen people are now looking your way; some seemed concerned. This was getting a little tense.

"How is your concussion anyhow?" say, and peer at the back of her head intensely, desparately. "I forgot that you accidentally HIT YOUR HEAD ON A BOAT WHILE WATER-SKIING last week," you'll say in a voice that is simultaneously forceful and pleading.

"I think you're confusing me--"

"I'm NOT confusing you HONEY, YOU are my WIFE and SHE is my DAUGHTER," you'll  exclaim in response, half to the woman, and half to the other customers. "I am an ORDINARY BUSINESSMAN NAMED LANCE PUTTNAM."

Now the daughter will start to cry and the woman will gather the girl up in her arms. A few of the other customers will began to mutter and point. They won't look happy.

Damn, you'll think to yourself, I've blown my cover again.

Now, reach into your utility spy belt, toss off three nerve gas grenades and slip on your personal breathing apparatus with one swift, fluid movement. The room will quickly fill with mist. The other customers will slump to the floor and shake a little before becoming still.

You'll set down the thermonuclear device and leave to try your luck at Starbucks.