The odds of picking a single, predetermined paper out of a fortune cookie? Incredible.
The odds of that paper having something to do with a terrorist plot? Only in the movies.
The odds that the cookie with the deadly message would actually make it to the correct event without anyone getting suspicious? Fairly slim.
The odds that the specified cookie, bearing time-sensitive material, would make it out of the package in time for the intended recipient to receive it, still without anyone noticing? Slimmer than a toothpick.
The odds that out of 250 guests, 20 trays of fortune cookies, 100 cookies on each tray, moving randomly around a exhibit hall the size of a football field, that a single uninvolved person totally unaware of the plot just might intercept the carefully planted message? The same as trying to knock a star out of the sky with a pea-shooter.
The odds that, out of everyone not involved in the plot currently mingling in the exhibit hall, the person would be me?
I knew I shouldn't have come; this was going to be the one time I could actually say "NO" when my girlfriend suggested attending an event concerning something I wasn't interested in. It should have been the beginning of a time when I took charge of my relationships instead of allowing my significant other to drag me all over creation behind her. The time when I stepped forward and took my place among Real Men In Relationships.
And I had the gall to pick up the Wrong Fortune Cookie.