It is almost two p.m. on Monday.  I have hours of work ahead of me this afternoon, not to mention the rest of the week.  So what the hell am I doing standing at the South entrance of the Plaza hotel, standing being a misnomer, because what I am actually doing is clinging to one of those electronic parking meters (Muni Meters, I believe), trying to keep my flip flops from slipping off the pedestal, all to get my head above the crowd of fifty or so adolescent Midwestern girls and their mothers?

I look at the middle-aged Midwestern woman standing next to/below me.  “I swear I’m not thirty,” I say.  “Huh?” She looks at me quizzically.  Sigh.  No sense of sarcasm.  What did I expect really?  What kind of people did I think were standing out here?  What could possibly bring together screaming teens, the Plaza, and me, playing hookie from work on a Monday afternoon?  Why, nothing less than the promise of a glimpse of Robert Pattinson emerging from his trailer.