Play Tag With Unsuspecting People

Everything lined up perfectly for me to play Tag with unsuspecting people for 24 hours. I started the day tagging Daniel, who got me back by calling my cell after I left for work and leaving a message: “Hi, Dad. Tag, you’re it.”

On the train ride in, I remembered it was “Bring Your Child To Work Day”—I didn’t take Daniel because he didn’t want to go—and I now would have a building full of kids/Tag targets.

Yep, things were looking good. Then the unexpected happened, something I’d never experienced during my past blog adventures. Previously, I wasn’t afraid to carry a stuffed Eeyore, or eat my food like a seal by tossing it in the air, or listen non-stop to Britney Spears songs for an entire week.

Do I mind making myself uncomfortable? No problem. But I quickly realized I wasn’t comfortable crossing the line and making someone else uncomfortable. How could I play Tag if I worried about touching people? I was like a sword swallower who’s afraid of sharp objects.

I couldn’t touch the woman who sat next to me on the train. I wanted to touch the cop standing in the aisle, but couldn’t get up the nerve. Walking in Suburban Station, the targets ping-ponged around me like lottery balls in a bubble, and I was afraid to reach out and touch them.

I initially thought I’d tag between 70 and 90 people by day’s end, but by 11 a.m., I still had only one. So I visited a couple friends who brought their kids, and quadrupled my total by tagging all four kids as we played a quick game of Tag in an office.

Back in Suburban Station at day’s end, I was desperate, so I tried the subtle tag. I bumped into people gently and said, “You’re it,” but even I knew that was like calling flag football a contact sport.

Finally, as we pulled up to my train stop, I had a wild idea: maybe I should act like a mad man and tag everyone along the way as I exited the train. Sure, I’d get some funny looks, and certainly a few stares at the stop for the next few days, but I had to make up for failing worse than Enron.

But I still couldn’t do it. So I ended up with a whopping total of 14 people tagged. On most days, I could bump into that many people in an elevator.

So I throw myself on the mercy of the court of public opinion: What should be my one-day punishment for playing chicken instead of Tag?

Should I wear my dog’s Cone of Shame, dress like an Oompa-Loompa, or do something else as suggested by you, the judges and jury?