The maitre’d leads Sam and Grace to a table near Blue Water Café’s open kitchen. Sam, a line cook at a mid-ranger across town, is nervous, not so much about blowing two weeks worth of tips at a seafood restaurant (he’s more of a meat and potatoes guy), but about proposing. He’s pretty sure that she’ll say yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier. His gut feels like it has been filled with jumpy eels, and his chest feels like a weight has been strapped to it.

“Good evening” says the waiter, a tall, thin man with slicked back hair greying at the temples. Sam nods, recognising him instantly. He couldn’t place where (too addled, perhaps), but he was certain they shared some history. Maybe an old restaurant? Or was it school?

“Do you have a preference for sparkling or still?” the server asked, addressing Grace.

“Yaletown tap is ok.” Sam answers for her. Where do I know this guy from?

“Absolutely. Now, before you take a look at your menus, I should mention that we do have some features tonight.”

I know that I know you from somewhere, Sam thinks to himself, fidgeting with the blue Birks box under his linen napkin.

“From the raw bar, we have a…”

Sam isn’t listening anymore. He’s focusing instead on the server’s expression, which has changed from one of studied indifference to one of…he can’t place it. The edges of his mouth are slightly curled on either side, one side up and the other down. His eyebrows have narrowed. It’s a Cheshire smile. He knows me.

“Perhaps you’d like to begin with a cocktail?” the server says, his eyes retreating inside their lids, the face now in full squint. In a quick movement, he reaches behind him and pulls out a gun, a bright pink, short-nosed squirt gun. He extends his arm across the table and rests the muzzle not a foot from Sam’s face. “Booyaka, motherfucker!” he hisses, squeezing hard on the trigger.

Grace’s mouth opens and she screams without sound. Sam is frozen stiff, paralyzed with two shocks, one of sudden recognition, the other of utter disappointment. The thin stream of water catches him right between the eyes, cascading down the bridge of his nose. Unthinking, he slams his fist on the table, and the small blue box that was in his hand tumbles out of it to rest at the stem of a wine glass. “You bastard.”

Grace sits mouth agape, her eyes flicking from the giggling server’s back as he calmly holsters his weapon (in his apron) and strides away, to a broadly smiling Sam who is busily wiping his face dry. Then there’s the blue box, just sitting there, like a question mark. She has never been more confused in her life.

“I lost, honey. I’m out.” Sam offer, quietly.

“Of what?”

“The Money Shot.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a game that I really didn’t want to lose.”

“And the Birks box?”

“Oh…that.”

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The Money Shot

All interested restaurant industry staff and owners who work in downtown Vancouver and its surrounding neighbourhoods between Commercial Drive to the east and King Edward to the south (no exceptions – sorry North Shore) are invited to play The Money Shot.

At 5:30pm time on Monday, November 29th, we will gather at The Diamond in Gastown. Everyone through the door will submit an entrance fee of $20 and register their names, emails and places of work for the purpose of building their wallet-sized Target Dossier (TD). They will also have their photograph taken for same. On the following night, they will be given a TD at random.

RULES

1. Only people within the restaurant industry are invited to play. That includes everyone from servers and cooks and liquor reps to bussers and owners and dishwashers.

2. Starting at midnight, November 30th, each player will receive a Target Dossier (TD) by email. The TD will include a name, a photograph and the name of the person’s place of work.

3. A target is considered “dead” if an assassin gets water on the target. Balloons, squirt guns and snowballs are the primary weapons of choice. Only a single drop counts, though a couple of squirts is just as effective (no spitting allowed).

4. A player has seven days to take down their target. If the time expires, the player is disqualified and must forfeit his/her TD, which will be re-assigned to a better assassin.

5. Only water is “lethal”. All other liquids are harmless.

6. A player cannot “kill” a target within 20 meters of the target’s home or work.

7. A player can make an attempt on a target if that target is inside the player’s place of work.

8. Every player must keep an electronic copy of their TD on their person at all times (ie. keep your cell handy).

9. A “dead” target must immediately hand over his/her own TD so that the victorious assassin can continue with a new target.

10. Because of the possibility of disqualifications, a player can (and likely will) be assigned multiple targets as the game progresses, with a seven day time limit for each. A player may also have multiple assassins.

11. A “dead” target must NOT reveal the identity of their assassin, on pain of public humiliation.

12. It is permissible for a target to preemptively “shoot” their assassin if they anticipate an attack. NB: if a player anticipates incorrectly (by assassinating the wrong player), that player is considered “dead” by self-inflicted wound.

13. A player must NOT leave the city limits of Vancouver for more than 72 hours (total) while the game is underway.

14. The mediator must be immediately notified via email each time a target has been “killed”.

15. The game will recess at midnight on December 23rd and resume at noon, December 31st, 2011.

16. If the game is not over by 12:01am on February 1st, 2011, the surviving players will share the prize.

Prize

25 players = $500 cash

There can be only one. 2nd place is just as dead as 100th place.

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If you’re interested in registering to play The Money Shot, sign up in the comments below with your name and your place of work (important: fill in the correct email address). We are looking for 100 players only, but there will be a waiting list. Feel free to Facebook and tweet…

PS. You’re all going down!