The band-aid company that hired me gave me simple instructions: scheme. I go into accident- prone environments and untie people's shoe laces to make them fall. Playgrounds are my personal favorite. Mothers and fathers chatting away with gossip as little Johnny trips over his laces and scrapes his knees. That's when I go for it. “Does anyone have a band-aid?” the guardian asks his/her surroundings. “As a matter of fact, I do!” And then I spew my propaganda. The conversation ends with a smiling guardian, a no longer bleeding child, and a coupon in hand from the band-aid company’s scheezeball