Zips

I came to the Schwab offices today hoping to catch them before closing, but I didn’t make it. Now I know they close at 5pm sharp. Seriously close, too, the lights are off and the doors look like they’ve been locked for a while. Weekends are out; they are open on Saturday only by appointment. How I’ve never noticed these details is beyond me. I’d put money on the fact that they were out of there by 4:30. The streets are full of college students on their way home. And the café is full of what sounds like student teacher meetings. With all my bags I pass for a student, but I have the wrong attitude at the counter, buying wine and chocolate like a 30 year old. I find a clear view of the office. Nothing is happening in there. I am listening to my minidisc recording session. It is a decent recording of street noise: buses, students talking, cars. But mostly it is a collection of zippers and bag fumblings and the business of trying to hide a microphone, and then walking around with it bumping up against your leg.

Alum

I went to a party last night and got in a conversation with someone about fundraising at Stanford. It turns out that not only is Charles a Trustee of the school, but he went there for his MBA. He wasn't famous then, just another Stanford MBA. But they must have taught him something about how to make money. I wonder if he was in any clubs.I bet there is a yearbook somewhere with a bad haircut in it.

Spying

There were a few things I couldn’t see very well, snooping around at night, so I decided to do some investigating during the day. For this I needed a disguise. I wore a “unisex” black knit hat pulled down low, and sunglasses which make me think of cops from a 70’s TV show. It was a warm day but I kept my black hoodie zipped up. Then I wondered if I was more conspicuous in my disguise than without it. People passed by me, not really noticing what I was doing. There was a newspaper stand just in front of the doorway, so I pulled out a newspaper and started pretending to read, like I’ve seen in movies. Later on I saw a security guard doing this in front of McDonalds.

I walked around the block, getting a feel for the place. This time I could make out the city ordinance number 01020012. They have changed the posters hanging in the windows from the house lending symbol (“equal opportunity lender) to the talk symbol (talk to chuck.) On my way around the building I noticed an odd object on the sidewalk. It was placed neatly in between a white fire hydrant and a grey metal housing. At first I thought it was a littler suitcase, and immediately I thought it could be a bomb, I’ve been so trained by our airports. But when I got closer I saw that it was the body of an old fashioned vacuum, the kind that has a long wobbly hose. Was it someone’s trash or someone’s art project? I don’t know.

Briefcase

The Ceaser with chicken at Au Coquelet sounds great but looks like it came out of a can. Their wine might, too, but it all goes down pretty easy. I’m sitting at the window, aware that I can spend no more than 2 hours at this table. I’m watching the foot traffic. There’s a guy with a striped shirt talking to another man carrying a briefcase. The guy with the briefcase just has a plain white shirt. He is what they call average: build, hair, face. I wonder if he works at Schwab. I could ask him. I could get up, cross the street, and just start a conversation like I would with anyone else.