I am
convinced everyone in my language class is a spy. There I said it. Outwardly, they are all too
nice. It’s as though they are all competing
in some sick spy game. The winner gets to kidnap the American. Of course this pessimism has much to do with
my New York heritage, but surprisingly there is more factual evidence then just
conjecture . Number 1: This is and always has been the edge
of the western world. Next stop, the
former Iron Curtain. Number 2: Just over
2 decades ago, spy’s and assassins used this part of the world as there private
play ground. If there were a stat for spy’s per capita, Germany would have more
professional bullshit artists than there are rice paddies in China. To this
day, it is no doubt one of the most important junctions where east meets
west. Number 3: The huge volume of
international travel going through the airport is probably the most important
factor in supporting my unease. With governments slicing and dicing budgets
faster that Zorro, spy’s are flying
economy more than ever these days. I
bet the majority are even flying with layovers.
It’s cheaper AND more importantly, it gives a great guise for top secret
meetings where the micro film can be transferred.
All of my
classmates seem to know something that I don’t. I get the feeling they are all
watching me, waiting for me to say something personal so they may text their
handlers about it. The other day, the Syrian
began asking me where I lived. I gave him nothing. Vague answers leave vague
impressions. I want each spy in my class to suspect that my
incredible ability to evade there interrogation techniques can only be because
of my own super spy training. That
perhaps I very well maybe the O.G. spy. 00 times 10.
James Bond’s top secret son ready
and willing to thwart there terrorist plot with a bit of some nationally
financed bullshit, and a big huge gun. When I enter the room, everyone smiles, and
says hello to me. Strange. Those smiling
eyes are hiding something damn it. The
Persian I swear is packing more than just pencils in her purse. The Ethiopian
is constantly on her IPHONE looking up to see if anyone is watching her. What’s with the new attractive Ukrainian
huh? She just happened to come into MY
class. I’ve seen the Manchurian
Candidate, and Men in Black. I know full
well they have mind altering, mind erasing thing-a-majigies these days!
The danger reached
a fever pitch on Wednesday. The Iranian got up to go to the bathroom AT THE
SAME time as me. As I walked down the
hall, I could hear her behind me shuffling through her purse looking for the
chloroform. With panther like quickness,
I made it to the bathroom drug-free which was a miracle. I waited 7 whole minutes, and when I exited,
guess who was there! Thank god for the
receptionist at the front desk. Her baring witness is the only reason I am not
hanging upside down being electro shocked like Riggs in Lethal Weapon.
Now that I
know I am a target, I have been doing my best to brush up on my spying
techniques in order to save my own life.
After watching Tailor, Tinker, Solider, Spy, I can
consider myself an official graduate of I-AM-A-BAD-ASS-SPY University. If you can stay awake, and understand what
the hell is going on, than you can be a bad ass spy too. Watching Cobra
while doing pushups has really been a huge help in developing my
confidence. Even though Cobra has no
spying in it, the gun fight at the end is one of the finest pieces of gratuitous
violence ever in a 1980’s movie. In honor of Sly and my new found confidence, I
now carry a knife with me at all times. Though it’s only a butter knife, it still
feels good. These movies have been essential
to my spy training, but most importantly, I try to look mean as hell. I’m
talking crack head violent mean. That
seems to at least rattle the elderly Polish lady with the liar eyes.
After
today’s class, I believe my teacher is working for British intelligence. What is a Polish-German women doing eating
Cadbury chocolate eggs in May? The distinctive manner in which she rattled off
the pages and exercise lessons for
homework leads me to believe she was
speaking in some sort of code. Friendly?
Doubtful. I now suspect the receptionist
maybe working for the Romanians, or maybe the Romulons. The only reason she
prevented the Iranian from putting me to sleep, rolling me up in a carpet and
throwing me in the back of some van, is because she wants to torture me herself.
Who knows? Perhaps all of this is just a lie, a fantasy concocted from a mind filled
with too many hours of cable TV. Perhaps
the blue van parked outside for the last 36 hours is just a construction crew
doing some work. Perhaps this weird eye twitch I’ve had for the last 12 hours
is NOT the after effects of sodium pentothal being slipped into my water bottle. Perhaps.
