“Hey… so this is weird,” I told my roommate Matt the other day. “There’s a shady Zionist group recruiting people to infiltrate the Columbia protests. They’re even offering to pay people who look Middle Eastern to do it …. “
“OK…” Matt goes. No stranger to my reckless stupidity, he’s suspicious already.
Sometimes, bodega clerks flirt with me by asking if I’m Lebanese. So, I got in touch with the Shirion Collective, and told them that I was interested in their work and that while I’m not Arab, I could pass for Lebanese, due to my dark hair and light olive skin.
They got back to me within a day. They asked for my address and said that once I’m vetted, my onboarding would be via Telegram. “Do you mean … my email address?”
“No. Home address. We will have someone meet you in person to vet. Think of it as an authenticity check.”
***
Back to my conversation with Matt. “So Matt … is this a good ide—”
“No.”
“But it would make such a good stor— “
“No.”
“But what if —”
“No.”
“I mean, if you think abou—”
“No!”
Finally, he invoked the magic words: “If you give these shady people this address I’ll call your mother and she’ll fly here and kill you.” Check. Mate. I tried to parry with the group, saying that while I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my home address, I’d be happy to meet in a coffee shop. I can only guess at this point that someone saw my Twitter feed and I didn’t hear from them again.
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