#Storytelling

CIA, Cartels, Iran & Coffee: My Funniest Sunday in the Park

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I swear… if the guy hadn’t started talking about Iran, I would have never noticed him.

Seriously…

Who talks about Iran in a park on a sunny Sunday afternoon?

Unless…

  • you’re actually from Iran,
  • you’re talking with close friends or family,
  • you work in international politics,
  • or your job somehow involves the Middle East.

Otherwise?

Go feed the ducks.

So naturally…

My detective brain activated.

Now, to be fair, this park has already surprised me more than once. I’ve met enough “intel agents,” conspiracy experts, and professionally crazy people that nowadays my survival strategy is simple:

Keep talking with my family. Keep my distance. Observe everything.

The distance was perfect. Plenty of people between us.

Excellent tactical positioning.

Then…

The noisy group sitting at the table in front of me finally left.

Of course…

Mr. “Let’s Discuss Iran in Public” immediately moved his headquarters directly in front of me.

My eyes…

My glasses…

My soul…

“OH, COME ON…”

Assessment mode activated.

Black hair.

Long sleeves.

Beard.

Tanned skin.

Athletic build.

“Hmm…”

“Latino?”

“My first theory is dead.”

“Definitely not Iranian.”

“So why was he talking about Iran?”

The investigation continued.

After approximately 0.8 seconds my brain announced:

“Cartel.”

Case closed.

Well…

Maybe not.

Let’s gather more intelligence before writing the report.

Meanwhile, I’m happily chatting with my family on the phone while secretly running facial recognition software inside my own head.

Then…

I notice tattoos hiding under his sleeves.

Blue navy T-shirt.

“Hmmm…”

New theory.

Official.

Cartel theory downgraded.

Government theory upgraded.

Then things became even weirder.

The guy keeps looking at me.

Across the park.

Again.

And again.

“Oh, fantastic…”

Now my brain is writing Netflix scripts.

I quietly tell my family:

“I think someone is recording me from across the tables.”

Silence.

Then laughter.

“No way.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“What’s wrong with your city?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s full of crazy people.”

Then they ask:

“Can you prove it?”

Me:

“I am right… almost all the time.”

Here’s my brilliant tactical plan.

“I’m going to move to the table next to him.”

“If he wants to keep filming me, he’ll have to physically turn to the right.”

My family completely loses it.

One of them says:

“Are you sure the CIA didn’t try to recruit you?”

I answer:

“No! 🤣”

“And besides… all intelligence agencies are way too corrupt for me!”

“I’m just a nurse looking for a job!”

Mission Sunday Coffee begins.

Armed with nothing but my coffee, my cane, and unnecessary confidence…

I casually walk around him…

…and sit at the next table.

(Please ask the satellites for the replay. 😂🛰️)

As I walked by…

I swear…

I could feel the awkwardness radiating from him.

He definitely wasn’t expecting ME to initiate the positional maneuver.

Sorry, baby boy.

You entered my observation radius.

I was peacefully drinking coffee, talking with my family, looking for a job.

No spy movie today.

No intelligence operation.

No secret mission.

Just caffeine.

As I passed, he was on a video call and suddenly I heard him say:

“I WILL TOWERING YOU.”

I almost exploded laughing.

Towering you?

What does that even mean?

The English.

The timing.

The drama.

The confidence.

It was so random that my brain simply gave up trying to decode it.

At this point I officially declared:

Sunday afternoon insanity confirmed.

Exactly what I expected happened.

The moment I sat down…

He ended the call.

Packed up.

Left.

Mission over.

As for me…

Well…

I discreetly took one picture for my personal “Museum of Strange Encounters.”

Not because I think he’s a spy.

Not because I think he’s cartel.

Not because I think he’s CIA.

Mostly because…

If one day Netflix asks me for evidence, I’ll be ready.

Sometimes I wish satellites had a free public account where you could simply click:

“Where did today’s weird guy go?”

😂🛰️

I live in a place where every week someone is just a little crazier than the previous one.

Meanwhile…

I dream about one day living somewhere …

…with completely normal people…

…who spend Sunday afternoons discussing football, barbecue recipes, dogs, or the weather.

Instead…

I get Iran.

Possible cartels.

Imaginary CIA recruitment.

Strategic table maneuvers.

Coffee.

And people shouting mysterious phrases on video calls.

Maybe craziness has become a professional qualification around here.

Or maybe…

This is just the local culture.

Either way…

At least it gives me great stories to tell.

🤣🤪😎

The Joyero Encounter

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Navigating the spring craziness is not as easy as you might think.

Once again, the same scenario unfolds: grocery shopping interrupted by the usual suspects—ICE, spies, Jews, and a jeweler.

And there it is, the same bus, the same meeting style. This time, a JOYERO (jeweller)

What caught my eye? His handcrafted jewelry or the situation itself.?

The bus never waits at that station. Never! But this time, it did.

Was it waiting for me?

I question everything unusual, so I questioned this too.

My alert system was on instantly. What the hell is with this bus?

Then I started scanning around.

I scanned to my right and left, focusing on those in close proximity, the most urgent ones.

On the right, a British man, whom I’ll call “Right Sunshine.” His fingers, his face, and the damned smell of alcohol masked by cheap perfume.

He seemed more concerned with adjusting his hat than hiding his alcohol scent.

But okay, brother, your lifestyle is your own.


I became scared and more aware.

There are probably more of them. I scanned further.

Straight ahead, another British person with two silver flower brooches. (What do those pins symbolize in gang slang? I need to learn more about this.)

She had an immortal face, my British Pins lady—or was she even a lady? I think not.


But on the left, there he was. THE him!

The jeweler, or as he called himself, the Joyero.

To make sense of this charade, I decided to start with him.

“What beautiful rings you have!” I yelled across the bus. He smiled! I made him happy!
He wanted JOY, he had JOY! LOL

I had made a jeweler happy, though I didn’t know it at the time.

I noticed how shyly he moved to another chair to avoid eye contact. Wrong move, old boy! I can see everything! Catched you!

Then questions started swirling in my head: Who will get off at the station with me, and how will I approach them—the one with the pins, the one who smells of wine, or the jeweler?

And as if the craziness needed to escalate, at the last two bus stops, two young Latinos sat in front of me, one wearing a “Steven Madden” bag. LOL

I thought, “Fuck, this is real craziness.”

Keeping my eyes open, I got off at my usual station with the Joyero in front of me.

I caught up to him at the crosswalk; he let me catch him.

Then I understood. What the fuck! This man is a professional! But who is he, and why is he doing this?

I approached him, my backpack full of groceries and a heavy bag of potatoes in hand, and started complimenting his rings.

This time, he said he couldn’t speak English, so I began speaking in my broken Spanish.

Is someone listening to and recording my phone in real time? It seems so! Joyero was cautious!

I don’t know who he is—crazy or a spy—but he told me he is THE JEWELER -JOYERO! He told me he made his own jewelry.

And I have never seen silver rings more beautiful than his! Ever in my life! And I am passionate about silver jewelry. He said he is from El Salvador, but he looked more Chinese than Salvadorian with his large, rare grey beard.

Definitely a disguise!

Whether he was a spy, an ICE agent (playing on “ice” as jewelry), a Jew, a crazy jeweler, a member of organized crime, or part of some secret society—that man was afraid to speak English and had the most beautiful rings.

It was him, THE LORD OF THE RINGS?

Who knows!

Let your soul speak to people, and they will speak to you—as best they can, for their protection and yours.

You must know just what you need to know.

Today was about THE Jeweler! EL JOYERO!

Who were the others? I’ll think about that later.