I was kidnapped today. No, not in Kabul or Tehran. I stepped out of my house on a tree-lined street in a typical American neighborhood to go to my doctor’s appointment. Before I could open the car door, an enormous black SUV with tinted windows pulled up and blocked my car. Stunned, I surveyed the SUV and wondered what to do to get it out of my way. Two burley guys in dark business suits hopped out of the back doors, ran over to me, and, one on each side, ushered me into their car lifting me off the ground
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Put me down!”
They shoved me into their car’s back seat. One of them went around to the other door. They both got in and wedged me in the middle. The car screeched off at top speed, and the asphyxiating scent of cheap aftershave hit me like a brick.
I half coughed and half screamed, “Hey! Stop! You can’t do this!”
The woman in the front passenger seat turned around and glared at me, but said nothing. I took deep breaths to calm myself. They hadn’t hit me—yet. Proficient in negotiation, I hoped I could talk my way out of this.
“Look. I have to get to my doctor’s appointment right now. How about if we do this kidnapping thing later?”
“We know,” the woman said in a bland voice dripping with negativity.
“You know what?”
“We know about your appointment with Dr. Napoleon.”
“How do you know that?”
This was met with insolent silence.
I decided to try again. “You have to return me to my car so I can get to my appointment—now. Don’t make me late!”
The driver yelled, “Shut up! We’re doin’ a job here!”
This was not encouraging. The thugs on either side of me looked straight ahead and didn’t blink. They seemed like robots, except for their penetrating scent.
In my most authoritarian manner I tried threatening them, “I absolutely insist that you take me back. Kidnapping is a felony. You’ll go to prison for the rest of your lives. I’m a lawyer. Lawyers know things.”
“We’re not kidnapping you. We’re taking you to your appointment. Our mission is to deliver you on time.”
“What! You’re kidding! I got three reminder calls. It’s on my calendar. What is this?”
“You didn’t call back to confirm,” she replied without emotion.
“Of course not. Why waste time calling when it’s on my calendar?”
“Our mission is to deliver you on time.”
“But I’ve never missed an appointment—not in forty years. I’m never late either.”
“That’s not completely true. You missed a hair appointment in 2007. We need to be sure that never happens again.”
This caught me by surprise. 2007? What happened in 2007? I remembered an appointment when the salon told me the wrong day of the week, but how did these creeps know that and what difference did it make?
“You were also ten minutes late for the dentist last year,” she reminded me in a condescending manner.
“I had a flat tire!” I screamed. “They understood!”
“Doesn’t matter. Our mission is to deliver you on time.” I was sure the repetition was intended to irritate.
“So. What about all the times I’ve been on time? Don’t those count?”
“We know—369 appointments including salon. We’ve been keeping records for twenty years.”
“What about the hours I’ve spent in the waiting rooms? That hair dresser is always late. How about that?”
“One miss does it. You’re considered unreliable.”
The SUV pulled up in front of my doctor’s office, and the two thugs got out.
“Wait a minute!” I yelled as one of them pulled me out of the back seat. “How’m I getting home?”
“That’s your problem,” the woman shouted through her half-open window as the men walked me into the building holding onto my arms. “Our mission is to deliver you on time. Mission accomplished. We’ll see you again before your next appointment.”