I reluctantly show up that Friday evening, sporting my tacky maroon “Dr Seeker & Mr Hide” tee-shirt and a weary smile. Before the rules are even explained, the rest of my team starts a drinking game, and the other team looks like they participated in a Happy Hour or two before showing up. I stay dry, really just hoping to get out of this thing unscathed. The rules are finally read aloud by a moustached aging hipster (“No private properties, no restricted access areas, no Republican bars,”) and we all shake hands before the whistle is blown. As the shrill sound bursts out from below the moustache, I race off. I didn’t know where I was going, but I felt a lot more like a tribute in the Hunger Games than a participant in a community Hide ‘n Seek game. Speaking of hunger, my stomach rumbles and I glare at it, thinking that I don’t have time to feed myself, and that its growling may end up giving away any potential hiding spots. I suppose it’d be best to hide somewhere with a decent menu. I run, or more accurately, jog off in the direction of Owl Bar (as a speakeasy should be a prime hiding spot, no?), but it’s not before long that my legs start cramping. I see a taxi and immediately jump in. There are no rules against moving hiding spaces and I think to myself that I may just stay here all night. My stomach roars again, but this time I am its fearless leader. I declare victoriously, “Take me to Chipotle, good sir!” and we’re off. I see a few more hiders and seekers on my trek in the purple cab, but they’re hardly looking in moving vehicles.

As I am between self-triumph and deciding which burrito to order, the cabbie turns around in his seat and says, “Oh hey, you’re a hide & seeker, aren’t ya?” I look around in the cab suspiciously and slowing start to nod my head. He grins widely and faces forward once again. I am at first worried, but that wears off quickly as I can see the Chipotle sign only blocks from where we sit. He pulls over toward the curb at the next light and I think that he’s going to make me walk the rest of the way. How rude. Instead he locks the doors, rolls down his window, and whistles loudly to a group of rowdy bros across the street. I look over and see them coming toward me in their sky blue “Movers & Seekers” tee-shirts. My mind is racing and I realize I’ve been turned in. “But why?!” I plead with the cabbie, until I notice the sky blue shirt peeking from below his leather jacket.

I am never playing Hide ‘n Seek again.