Why I would make a good spy

Spy vs. Spy

Image via Wikipedia

It’s always good to have a backup career, just in case, and I think that if I weren’t doing what I’m doing, I’d make a good spy.  For all the government types trolling the blogs, looking for hints or clues or chatter or whatever technical term you’re using these days, here’s why:

1.  I have my own trenchcoat.  From the extensive research I’ve done, by which I mean all the movies and television shows I’ve watched, this appears to be essential.  We’re in cost-cutting mode, of course, and I think it says something about my dedication that I’ve already invested in this crucial piece of equipment.  I’m always looking to help out with the federal deficit.

2.  I wear sunglasses all the time already, even indoors.  No one thinks twice about a blind girl wearing sunglasses; she’s supposed to.  It would be weird if she didn’t.  I suppose the sunglasses on spies are supposed to mask where their eyes are looking, or make sure the glare from the sun or the artificial lights doesn’t interfere with vision, so hey, I’ve already got that covered.  Man, it’s like I’m a spy already!

3.  My seeing eye dog could be trained for super-secret spy stuff.  I don’t actually have a seeing eye dog, but I’m eligible for one, and I could train mine to sniff out drugs and bombs and maybe to alert me to the presence of surveillance technology.  Dogs get trained to do all sorts of things these days.  Do you think it would be too much if I named the dog Q?  What about 99?

4.  I can run flat out in four inch stiletto heels.  I’ve learned this not only on my long string of first dates, but also from constantly running late while on the job.  I can run surprisingly quickly while in heels and carrying an armful of books, files, and papers.  Imagine what I could do in a sexy dress with a gun.  Go on, imagine it!

5.  I have super awesome hearing.  I can’t see a darn thing, but I can be sitting at a table halfway across a crowded cafe and eavesdrop on a conversation in lowered voices without anyone realizing I’m doing it.  I’ve already put this to the test in a few casual situations, with the result that I’ve learned that it’s honestly best not to know most of the time.  But hey, for the good of the country, I’m willing to suffer through.

I’d make the most awesome spy.  Federal agencies, you are On Notice.  I expect the men in black to show up any day now, offer in hand.  Of course, since I will have heard them coming, I’ll sneak up behind them in my trenchcoat and sunglasses, with my superdog and my four inch heels, and murmur, “Looking for someone?”  At which point they will jump five feet in the air, panic, and shoot me immediately.  Oh, well.  Maybe sneaking up on secret agents isn’t the best idea.  I guess I’ll just open the door.

Little blind girl and the magician’s apprentice


CC Image courtesy of nuanc on Flickr

Once upon a time, a friend of mine took a course in magic tricks, and she liked to practice on me.  Magic, it transpires, is an extremely visual art, and the practice sessions could get a little interesting–for instance:

Friend:  Pick a card, any card.  (Little Blind Girl picks a card.) Don’t show me what it is.  Turn it over.  Now put it back in the deck.  (LBG puts card back in deck, friend shuffles enthusiastically.)  Now!  (Friend turns over top card on deck)  Is this your card?

Little Blind Girl:  I don’t know.  Is it?

Friend:  (stares at card, then at LBG.)  I have no idea.  Didn’t you look when you turned it over?

LBG:  Sure.

Friend:  So what did you see?

LBG:  A blurry white piece of paper.

Friend:  (pause)  OK.  Um.  Next on the list is…never mind.

LBG:  What?

Friend:  Three card monte.

LBG:  Huh.  Yeah, talk about guessing blind.

Friend:  You know, when I make jokes like that, you hit me.

LBG:  I’m spirited.

Friend:  You’re a nutcase.

LBG:  What’s next?

Friend:  Let’s see.  (consults lesson) I’m going to make a card vanish.  I’m taking a card from the deck, no particular card, nothing special about it.  I’ll put it here on this table in front of me, pass my hands over without touching the card, and over again–and it’s gone!

LBG:  Gone from where?

Friend:  The table!

LBG:  Is it?

Friend:  You know, you take all the fun out of misdirection.

I’m pretty sure I was not the reason my friend gave up on her dreams of a career in magic. I think she’s an accountant now.  So, you know, making good use of the lessons in misdirection after all.  Still, I’ll always be curious about what would have happened if we had gotten to the trick about sawing a lady in half.  I really think I would have noticed that one.