Getting started

So, you may be wondering, how does one wind up being a secret agent?

Well, unsurprisingly, the Powers That Be take the view of “Don’t call us, we’ll call you”

Let’s face it, you’re not much of a secret agency if you’re in the phone book.

So I never did apply to spy. I’d basically become disenchanted with my old career (something completely non-secret) – I’d quit without any clear idea of what to do next. So I bounced around doing odd jobs, travelling, living off reserves, and giving my C.V. (or resumée if you prefer) the occasional brushing-up just in case anyone saw it and realised what an invaluable asset I would be.

To my stunned surprise, somebody actually did. Completely out of the blue, I got a phonecall. Details were sketchy, but I was told to expect to hear from somebody..

I duly heard from somebody shortly afterwards. A few pertinent questions later and they made up their minds that I was at least “of interest”. I was given a time and a place to meet. It was quite a long way off, in a farm in the middle of nowhere.

No alarm bells ringing at all. No sir.

Still, I had nothing better to do. Off I went.

The interview went well, and ultimately I was offered the job. It seemed like it had potential, so I went with it.

How’s it going so far?

Well: in the last year, I’ve picked up more scars and broken bones than I’d managed in my entire life beforehand. I’ve been hit with more fines for traffic offences, too. I’ve been to some very interesting places, and discovered that although one of the perks of the job really is that you get to dance the night away with pretty girls, it’s nowhere near as frequent as the movies would have you believe.

I also appear to have become somewhat more remarkable to look at.

This might be down to the scars.

But I recently visited my aging mother and went along on an excursion with the walking group she belongs to. A year ago, the question I overheard her being asked would have been “Who’s that young man with you? Tall, isn’t he?” – that at least is what I was used to.

This time, though, the question was “Who’s that gorgeous young man you brought? Big, isn’t he? You wouldn’t want to get into an argument with him.”

I blush to pass along such a quote, being as you’ll have noticed a very modest man, but such were her words.

I’m not used to being looked at as big and scary. It’s impressive what The Company training apparently does to you. I’ve certainly started bulking up – in fact, I’ve had to start taking nutrition so seriously that I’ve started cooking again. And installed an app on my phone to track all the dietary numbers. Barcode recognition FTW.

And this is just on the foundation training – the actual, proper unarmed combat stuff isn’t likely to begin until next year. I’ll have to be careful I don’t get accused of eating babies if trends continue.

On the less-physical side of things, I’ve gotten to play with some very cool gadgets. And it’s amazing, some of the things you learn on the job.

For one thing, aloe vera lotion and sudocrem are very good things to keep around if you’re prone to getting cut, bruised, and burned.

Sigh…

The truth

I’m not a spy.

Of course, if I were a spy, I would deny it.

But in this case, the denial is because it’s not true, not because it is.

But since this is an anonymous blog, and I’d be a bit too identifiable if I put my actual job into posts, at the same time I was thinking about what name to give myself, I was wondering about how to handle my day job. And suddenly it struck me: Secret agent! The more I thought about it, the more apt a metaphor it seemed for my actual job.

And everything else just flowed from there.

So despite the theme, and the continual references I expect to be writing, my actual job isn’t being a spy. Any more than my name is Bond. James Bond.