Fame is just not for the faint of heart.
I discovered that out this week once I got a taste of the celebrity life because of the armed bodyguards who followed me and a pal around wherever we went — and protected us from suspected “paparazzi” in a wild, Hollywood-style chase through Gotham.
On Wednesday night, my friend Savannah Larson and I made a decision to exit for a drink or two — and provides a test drive to the on-demand private security app called Protector that I wrote about last week.
Clad in “tactical casual” attire of jeans and slim-fitting black windbreakers, the trio of ex-NYPD officers –our bodyguards Chris, Taylor and George — showed up at 9 p.m. to our meeting spot in Times Square to embark on a carefree girl’s night out.
As Savannah and I locked arms and commenced to strut through Times Square, Taylor walked in front of us; George, behind us, and Chris, able to move between our left and right sides.
They made navigating crowded city streets a breeze — ‘gently’ brushing aside anyone in our path.
“Yo…who’s that?” we overheard one gawker wonder as Taylor, 33, flippantly nudged him outside the Times Square subway stop.
We sent the drivers of the 2 black SUVs the Protectors dropped at chauffeur us around to attend on the Bushwick bar we were heading to, opting to take the subway alongside our bodyguards as a substitute.
The NYC subway system has never felt safer.
Chris, Taylor and George surrounded Savannah and I on board a southbound “N” train to Union Square station, then a Brooklyn-bound L to Jefferson Street.
“I’ve got eyes on this one,” George, 43, said when the subway automotive doors opened briefly to disclose a disheveled woman flailing on the bottom of 1 subway platform.
Once in Bushwick, we walked to the bar Carousel on Wyckoff Avenue, where Savannah and I leisurely sipped wine while the our guards — all armed with semi-automatic pistols — waited outside on the sidewalk.
After we were able to go, the trio escorted us into one in all the 2 black SUVs parked on the corner, and we began heading back to Savannah’s apartment in Greenwich Village.
Little did we all know, the “paparazzi” were able to pounce.
As our SUV turned a corner near Washington Square Park, Chris, who was sitting within the passenger seat, turned to have a look at Taylor within the seat behind him.
“Keep eyes on this guy behind us. He’s been following us for just a few blocks,” Chris said, and instructed the motive force, Julian, to take a last-second right turn, then one other one to the left.
However the maneuvers didn’t throw the black Honda off our tail.
Chris called George — who was riding with one other Protector-provided driver, Anthony, within the second SUV, traveling in front of us — to tell him of the potential threat.
As if the motive force was expecting Beyonce and Jay-Z to be inside, the Honda began following us even closer – and grew increasingly aggressive.
“Julian, to your right!” Chris exclaimed because the vehicle, bearing no front license plate, tried to tug up alongside us.
At Chris’ directions for the subsequent quarter-hour, Julian hit the gas to squeeze through traffic lights, swerved between lanes, made quick turns and cut the Honda off.
When Chris asked if one in all us could Google the closest NYPD Precinct, Savannah and I released our anxious grip on one another’s hands so she could pull up directions to the tenth Precinct on nearby West twentieth Street.
Once outside the precinct, Julian had barely put the SUV in park before our fearless Protectors were outside, blaring flashlights into the Honda’s windshield and illuminating the startled expressions of the male driver and his pal within the passenger seat.
Savannah and I watched out the back window as three cops joined our bodyguards and repeatedly asked the duo contained in the Honda to roll the windows down – to no avail.
Suddenly, we saw the automotive’s lights activate as the motive force began the ignition.
“Girls, get out and into the station, now!” Chris said, flinging the SUV door open.
Inside, Chris told us he had spotted what seemed to be camera gear within the Honda’s backseat.
“They’re probably paparazzi,” he said, drawing disbelieving cackles from Savannah and I.
“What a terrible day — we’re not even famous, and now they’re on the police station,” we mused. Cops ultimately let the unidentified duo drive off
Savannah and I were done. It was enough of the luxe life and time to go home.
I later asked Protector app founder and CEO Nick Sarath if he or any of his associates arrange the 15-minute chase — but he insisted they were just as surprised as we were.
“We had nothing to do with the chasers and would never be involved in something like that,” said Sarath.
Although fame often seems appealing – and we loved the Protectors – my boyfriend later made a very good point: “That never would have happened for those who were in a Toyota Camry.”
Fame is just not for the faint of heart.
I discovered that out this week once I got a taste of the celebrity life because of the armed bodyguards who followed me and a pal around wherever we went — and protected us from suspected “paparazzi” in a wild, Hollywood-style chase through Gotham.
On Wednesday night, my friend Savannah Larson and I made a decision to exit for a drink or two — and provides a test drive to the on-demand private security app called Protector that I wrote about last week.
Clad in “tactical casual” attire of jeans and slim-fitting black windbreakers, the trio of ex-NYPD officers –our bodyguards Chris, Taylor and George — showed up at 9 p.m. to our meeting spot in Times Square to embark on a carefree girl’s night out.
As Savannah and I locked arms and commenced to strut through Times Square, Taylor walked in front of us; George, behind us, and Chris, able to move between our left and right sides.
They made navigating crowded city streets a breeze — ‘gently’ brushing aside anyone in our path.
“Yo…who’s that?” we overheard one gawker wonder as Taylor, 33, flippantly nudged him outside the Times Square subway stop.
We sent the drivers of the 2 black SUVs the Protectors dropped at chauffeur us around to attend on the Bushwick bar we were heading to, opting to take the subway alongside our bodyguards as a substitute.
The NYC subway system has never felt safer.
Chris, Taylor and George surrounded Savannah and I on board a southbound “N” train to Union Square station, then a Brooklyn-bound L to Jefferson Street.
“I’ve got eyes on this one,” George, 43, said when the subway automotive doors opened briefly to disclose a disheveled woman flailing on the bottom of 1 subway platform.
Once in Bushwick, we walked to the bar Carousel on Wyckoff Avenue, where Savannah and I leisurely sipped wine while the our guards — all armed with semi-automatic pistols — waited outside on the sidewalk.
After we were able to go, the trio escorted us into one in all the 2 black SUVs parked on the corner, and we began heading back to Savannah’s apartment in Greenwich Village.
Little did we all know, the “paparazzi” were able to pounce.
As our SUV turned a corner near Washington Square Park, Chris, who was sitting within the passenger seat, turned to have a look at Taylor within the seat behind him.
“Keep eyes on this guy behind us. He’s been following us for just a few blocks,” Chris said, and instructed the motive force, Julian, to take a last-second right turn, then one other one to the left.
However the maneuvers didn’t throw the black Honda off our tail.
Chris called George — who was riding with one other Protector-provided driver, Anthony, within the second SUV, traveling in front of us — to tell him of the potential threat.
As if the motive force was expecting Beyonce and Jay-Z to be inside, the Honda began following us even closer – and grew increasingly aggressive.
“Julian, to your right!” Chris exclaimed because the vehicle, bearing no front license plate, tried to tug up alongside us.
At Chris’ directions for the subsequent quarter-hour, Julian hit the gas to squeeze through traffic lights, swerved between lanes, made quick turns and cut the Honda off.
When Chris asked if one in all us could Google the closest NYPD Precinct, Savannah and I released our anxious grip on one another’s hands so she could pull up directions to the tenth Precinct on nearby West twentieth Street.
Once outside the precinct, Julian had barely put the SUV in park before our fearless Protectors were outside, blaring flashlights into the Honda’s windshield and illuminating the startled expressions of the male driver and his pal within the passenger seat.
Savannah and I watched out the back window as three cops joined our bodyguards and repeatedly asked the duo contained in the Honda to roll the windows down – to no avail.
Suddenly, we saw the automotive’s lights activate as the motive force began the ignition.
“Girls, get out and into the station, now!” Chris said, flinging the SUV door open.
Inside, Chris told us he had spotted what seemed to be camera gear within the Honda’s backseat.
“They’re probably paparazzi,” he said, drawing disbelieving cackles from Savannah and I.
“What a terrible day — we’re not even famous, and now they’re on the police station,” we mused. Cops ultimately let the unidentified duo drive off
Savannah and I were done. It was enough of the luxe life and time to go home.
I later asked Protector app founder and CEO Nick Sarath if he or any of his associates arrange the 15-minute chase — but he insisted they were just as surprised as we were.
“We had nothing to do with the chasers and would never be involved in something like that,” said Sarath.
Although fame often seems appealing – and we loved the Protectors – my boyfriend later made a very good point: “That never would have happened for those who were in a Toyota Camry.”
