I had a date this evening. And not with my wife.
Try telling your wife that you have to meet someone at Starbucks in the evening.
"I have to leave as soon as dinner is over".
"Why?"
"I have to meet someone at Starbucks. I won't be gone long. Fifteen minutes, tops."
"Who?"
"Her name is (omitted). She is an investigator, and she has questions about (we'll call him Joe) Joe's background. She wants to know how I know Joe."
Fortunately, my wife is a super cool gal. Even more fortunate (for her) is the fact that I simply cannot lie. I mean, I have tried in the past, but I am not a good liar. That has it's pros and cons. Mostly the pros fall in her camp. I just don't do it very well.
I digress...
The whole reason for this is because a friend of mine has applied for a job with the US Government. All of his testing and credentials have been approved, and he has made several trips to the state in which he will be working.
However, before everything is finalized, an investigator has a job to do. This person will interview people that know my friend. And furthermore, they will ask people like me if they know of anyone that might be able to answer any questions the government might have concerning my friend. That question made me a little nervous. It's no secret to my friend that I am not a huge fan of our government at the moment, but the job he will be doing on a daily basis has my respect and approval. Politically speaking, I think we should clean house.
But I digress.... again.
For a while, I felt like a spy for some reason. That may be due to the way that the investigator contacted me. She had to leave a message on my cell phone, and I had to call her back. After the time and place was arranged, she ended the conversation with, "I will be the one with the big red bag." Then she hung up.
What?? Wait!
Is there some sort of phrase or password that I will need? Gimme something... C'mon!
When I arrived, I was nervous that other people would be watching. Would someone in a dark suit show up out of nowhere and pat me down? Would they confiscate my pistol? Would they follow me home?
Nah. I don't rank that high on the government's watch lists. It's better that way for now.
It was an interesting process, and had my wife not known about the goings on with our friend, I am sure she would have been a little more than curious. But, as it turned out, it wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be.
The interview lasted about fifteen minutes. The weather was really nice outside, but too windy for an interview - considering all of the paperwork involved. So, we moved from the outside to the inside, and we sat at a table right in front of another fella who was playing on his laptop. And sipping on a rather large cafe mocha latte frappacino la-tee-da-tah.
I picked something from the menu called a white mocha something or other. It was good, I have to admit. But I never can remember what the different coffees are, or how to pronounce them. In fact, not too long ago, we stopped at a Starbucks on the way home from a friend's house in north Houston. I was driving, and Kelly told me what she wanted - but I couldn't remember what it was called. As it turned out, she had to lean over to the driver's side of the car and order for all of us. It's a sad state when one cannot order their fancy coffee properly.
It's plausible that you, the reader, have determined by now that I am NOT a coffee shop geek. I am tragically un-hip, and so conservative minded that over hearing coffee shop talk makes my head spin. Not all of the people that sit in and around coffee shops are like the ones that frequent this one... then again, maybe they are. I cannot imagine bringing my laptop to a coffee shop and sitting at a table all alone for hours. In fact, I cannot imagine taking my laptop to the couch to sit for hours, tapping the keys. Seriously. I do that ALL DAY at my job. My lingo concerns camping, canoeing, family, and firearms. While some of the coffee shops folks may well go camping and canoeing, I would wager that very scant few have so many pistols that they can't decide which ones to compete with. My pistols are to me what shoes are to women. What I will wear on a particular day is determined by the pistol I want to carry. Sorry, ladies.... I am already taken.
Did I mention I am tragically un-hip?
As we sit down at the table, the investigator whips out a small badge holder and says, "Just so you know who I am, these are my credentials." This caught the attention of the guy that was sitting at the table nearby, and I could tell his interest was piqued. The investigator dropped her voice quite low from this point on, and I could see the guy leaning in over his laptop, trying to hear what we were talking about.
I had to bite my lip when I was asked if my friend (who is applying for this job) or I have ever plotted to over throw the US Government. Our coffee shop urchin just about fell out of his chair.
That's okay. Not many exciting things happen in Starbucks, especially in our little town. The last time I ever saw anyone get excited at a Starbucks was years ago, when my wife and I stopped in after a trip to the bookstore. I had purchased a Soldier of Fortune magazine, and I brought it in with me. For the record, I am not really into that sort of stuff. But there was an article that was pretty good in this issue that discussed the differences between an AR-15 and a Mini-14. Inquiring minds want to know what the experts think. Somehow, Kelly and I managed to secure a nice little table in a very crowded patio that day. And, for some reason, everyone we met at that shop seemed to be a little nervous and had trouble maintaining eye contact with me.
The 'date' today ended with a handshake and a thank you from my "date". She was very professional and polite, but I couldn't wait to get home to the woman I love.
I will miss my friend. He is leaving the great State of Texas in about thirty days. I am actually quite envious. I wish, really wish, that I could have a job in which I got to seek out the "bad" guys. It's a dream of mine, but only a dream. I don't have the military or police experience.... just the desire to make the country a nicer place to live.
Maybe one of these days I will go up and see my friend, and maybe he will be able to take me on a field trip. I can dream.
Try telling your wife that you have to meet someone at Starbucks in the evening.
"I have to leave as soon as dinner is over".
"Why?"
"I have to meet someone at Starbucks. I won't be gone long. Fifteen minutes, tops."
"Who?"
"Her name is (omitted). She is an investigator, and she has questions about (we'll call him Joe) Joe's background. She wants to know how I know Joe."
Fortunately, my wife is a super cool gal. Even more fortunate (for her) is the fact that I simply cannot lie. I mean, I have tried in the past, but I am not a good liar. That has it's pros and cons. Mostly the pros fall in her camp. I just don't do it very well.
I digress...
The whole reason for this is because a friend of mine has applied for a job with the US Government. All of his testing and credentials have been approved, and he has made several trips to the state in which he will be working.
However, before everything is finalized, an investigator has a job to do. This person will interview people that know my friend. And furthermore, they will ask people like me if they know of anyone that might be able to answer any questions the government might have concerning my friend. That question made me a little nervous. It's no secret to my friend that I am not a huge fan of our government at the moment, but the job he will be doing on a daily basis has my respect and approval. Politically speaking, I think we should clean house.
But I digress.... again.
For a while, I felt like a spy for some reason. That may be due to the way that the investigator contacted me. She had to leave a message on my cell phone, and I had to call her back. After the time and place was arranged, she ended the conversation with, "I will be the one with the big red bag." Then she hung up.
What?? Wait!
Is there some sort of phrase or password that I will need? Gimme something... C'mon!
When I arrived, I was nervous that other people would be watching. Would someone in a dark suit show up out of nowhere and pat me down? Would they confiscate my pistol? Would they follow me home?
Nah. I don't rank that high on the government's watch lists. It's better that way for now.
It was an interesting process, and had my wife not known about the goings on with our friend, I am sure she would have been a little more than curious. But, as it turned out, it wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be.
The interview lasted about fifteen minutes. The weather was really nice outside, but too windy for an interview - considering all of the paperwork involved. So, we moved from the outside to the inside, and we sat at a table right in front of another fella who was playing on his laptop. And sipping on a rather large cafe mocha latte frappacino la-tee-da-tah.
I picked something from the menu called a white mocha something or other. It was good, I have to admit. But I never can remember what the different coffees are, or how to pronounce them. In fact, not too long ago, we stopped at a Starbucks on the way home from a friend's house in north Houston. I was driving, and Kelly told me what she wanted - but I couldn't remember what it was called. As it turned out, she had to lean over to the driver's side of the car and order for all of us. It's a sad state when one cannot order their fancy coffee properly.
It's plausible that you, the reader, have determined by now that I am NOT a coffee shop geek. I am tragically un-hip, and so conservative minded that over hearing coffee shop talk makes my head spin. Not all of the people that sit in and around coffee shops are like the ones that frequent this one... then again, maybe they are. I cannot imagine bringing my laptop to a coffee shop and sitting at a table all alone for hours. In fact, I cannot imagine taking my laptop to the couch to sit for hours, tapping the keys. Seriously. I do that ALL DAY at my job. My lingo concerns camping, canoeing, family, and firearms. While some of the coffee shops folks may well go camping and canoeing, I would wager that very scant few have so many pistols that they can't decide which ones to compete with. My pistols are to me what shoes are to women. What I will wear on a particular day is determined by the pistol I want to carry. Sorry, ladies.... I am already taken.
Did I mention I am tragically un-hip?
As we sit down at the table, the investigator whips out a small badge holder and says, "Just so you know who I am, these are my credentials." This caught the attention of the guy that was sitting at the table nearby, and I could tell his interest was piqued. The investigator dropped her voice quite low from this point on, and I could see the guy leaning in over his laptop, trying to hear what we were talking about.
I had to bite my lip when I was asked if my friend (who is applying for this job) or I have ever plotted to over throw the US Government. Our coffee shop urchin just about fell out of his chair.
That's okay. Not many exciting things happen in Starbucks, especially in our little town. The last time I ever saw anyone get excited at a Starbucks was years ago, when my wife and I stopped in after a trip to the bookstore. I had purchased a Soldier of Fortune magazine, and I brought it in with me. For the record, I am not really into that sort of stuff. But there was an article that was pretty good in this issue that discussed the differences between an AR-15 and a Mini-14. Inquiring minds want to know what the experts think. Somehow, Kelly and I managed to secure a nice little table in a very crowded patio that day. And, for some reason, everyone we met at that shop seemed to be a little nervous and had trouble maintaining eye contact with me.
The 'date' today ended with a handshake and a thank you from my "date". She was very professional and polite, but I couldn't wait to get home to the woman I love.
I will miss my friend. He is leaving the great State of Texas in about thirty days. I am actually quite envious. I wish, really wish, that I could have a job in which I got to seek out the "bad" guys. It's a dream of mine, but only a dream. I don't have the military or police experience.... just the desire to make the country a nicer place to live.
Maybe one of these days I will go up and see my friend, and maybe he will be able to take me on a field trip. I can dream.
In the meantime, I will stay in Texas, and play with my toys, poking holes in the paper bad guys. And, more than likely, I will not be going on anymore dates with anyone but my lovely wife.
Now that is exciting.
At least for me.
Ah, you're so sweet. :) So are we considered swingers now that you've been on a date with another woman?
ReplyDeleteWhoa! No. No swingin'.
ReplyDeleteDude, I was joking. :)
ReplyDeleteSo, you wanna go on a date with ME? yeah, I'm asking you out. You're paying.
How can I refuse?
ReplyDeleteWhy are we leaving comments for each other? We live together! LOL But yeah a date would be great.
ReplyDelete