security guard

You pull your hair into a tight bun, splash on some glitter blush, and stride confidently toward the back door. A security guard stops you.

“No unauthorized personnel,” she says.

“Don’t you know who I am?” you demand. “I am U.S. gymnast Madison Kocian!”

The security guard narrows her eyes. “Where’s your ID badge, Madison?”

“Oh come on, I’m in my leotard. There are no pockets on this thing.”

The security guard eyes your pantsuit suspiciously.

“I mean, there are decorative pockets. But we’re not supposed to put anything in them, because it will fall out on the uneven bars.”

She hesitates for a moment.

“Oh, how can I say no to an American athlete who has taken the time to learn such fluent Brazilian Portuguese?” she says. “You’re in.”