"Klandestein Kapers" Part I
by Sean Gyll (Steve Argyle)
Davis Dart Volume 52 Number 10: Wednesday, March 27, 1974 page 5
I strolled nonchalantly and discreetly down the busy Salt Lake Street. What I mean to say is that I tried to stroll nonchalantly and discreetly down the busy Salt Lake Street, but that was hard to do because of the familiar strains of "Mission Impossible" that could be heard wherever I went.
Ignoring the music as I have learned to do, I nonchalantly and discreetly walked into the intersection of South Temple and Main and climbed onto the Brigham Young monument. After some nonchalant and discrete acrobatics, I retrieved the tape recorder placed strategically and discreetly in his left hand (you know, the one nonchalantly reaching for the bank.) Perched astride Potahonca's (or whoever's) shoulders, I turned on the machine.
"Good morning, Mr. Klandestein. Hidden innocently and discreetly within the walls of Davis High is one of the most insidious, rapid and efficient intelligence gathering organizations in the world: the dread GIA."
"What the heck is the GIA?" I thought to myself.
"I'll tell you what the heck it is," the metallic voice nonchalantly continued. "It is the Grapevine Intelligence Agency. Your mission, Mr. K., should you decide to accept it, is to ferret out the masterminds of this organization-with nonchalant discretion, of course. This tape will discreetly self-destruct in fifteen seconds."
Being well acquainted with how discreetly these beasts self-destruct, I whirled the machine away and nonchalantly bolted in the opposite direction. I vaulted a VW, jumped a mustang like a Cretan bull, and managed to discreetly reach the curb before a minor explosion destroyed a Continental Mark IV, two super beetles, a Vega Kammback, 28 pedestrians, and a ZCMI courtesy bus.
Haunted by my theme music, I nonchalantly drove my discrete, super charged, fuel injected Honda Civic to the school in question. Nonchalantly striding to the beat, I discreetly observed everything that came under my narrow, calculating glance. I decided to discreetly disguise myself as a freshman.
I discreetly entered and nonchalantly walked down the hall, trying to imitate the cringing gait of the frosh. Obviously, my impersonation was unwise as well as convincing. Even at a distance, the glint of eager malice was plain in the eyes of a group of senior boys.
The impact was tremendous. What does one do when one finds oneself hurling through the air at 70 MPH?
Striving to maintain my anonymity, I nonchalantly bounced four times to distribute the injuries evenly over my body and, using my nose for a break, I skidded to a halt. I discreetly peeled myself from the floor and departed the scene.
This time I returned in the image of a senior, assuming the proper posture with my stride loose and confident and my nose in the acoustics. Nonchalantly mingling with a crowd, I began making discreet inquiries as to the nature of the GIA.
"Pardon me," I asked a lovely young lady, "But could you answer a few discrete inquiries as to the nature of the GIA?"
"How dare you!" she commented as she slapped my face. I discreetly spat out a tooth and nonchalantly pursued my endeavor elsewhere.
My keen powers of observation detected a change in the music. It was growing in intensity and suspense, so I inferred that something was about to happen to me. Tilting my head to catch the sound more clearly, I promptly but discreetly tripped on some obstruction in the hall. Nonchalantly picking myself up, I spied some surly lunks sitting against the wall. By sheer genius and well-developed deductive skill, I concluded that these were the very obstructions I had tripped over.
"Hey, you the dude that was bugging girls about the GAI?" one growled. "I never bug people," I stated, picking up the electronic listening devices I had dropped. "And that's the GIA, not GAI," I corrected. "Know anything about it?"
"No," he explained.
"It's the Grapevine. . . " At the word they all clammed up as in fear or disgust.
"What's for lunch?" I asked, nonchalantly making idle conversation. This time I know they clammed up in fear or disgust.
Seeing further speech as useless, I nonchalantly tried to determine the reason for their choice of seating locations. Just then, several linear yards worth of legs passed by. Nonchalantly recovering from a massive cardiac arrest and discreetly restarting my automatic pace maker and plugging my eyes back in their sockets, I believed I had a clue.
Staggering to my feet, I nonchalantly and discreetly trucked off down the hall accompanied by a my ever-present yet pleasingly dramatic music.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
[This is one of my favorite 'Sean Gyll' pieces. The joys of high school! Steve - do you have the rest of the pieces? -ed]