What do you think of when you hear the word “spy”? Do you picture an overcoated man with a fedora and steely gaze? A smoldering cigarette? A snub-nosed pistol? A smoking-hot babe at his side?
Well, you’ve just pictured me — all but the overcoat part and the cigarette part. And the pistol part. And, recently, the babe part. I do work weird hours, though.
I guess the only “important” difference between a real spy and me is that, where real spies take case after case, I only ever work with one target. You could say I’m the Jerry Maguire of espionage.
My target? Let’s call her “Jen Wolf,” which is very much her real name. Jen and I broke up five weeks ago, and I suspect she’s pretty broken up about it, so I’ve been checking up on her to see if she’s okay. I sit before war memorials disguised as a wheelchaired veteran. I dive behind bushes. I get accidentally shut inside meat lockers. Last week I got stuck inside her nephew’s toy igloo. And I don’t even get paid! I guess I do it for the love of the game.
My main concern is this: How’s Jen doing since the breakup? I’ve had other women obsess over me, lament our separation, and, once, even call me back. I always feel bad for these women—hence why I feel the need to constantly check up on old Jen.
Like the other day, I spent eight hours inside a suit of armor at Jen’s work (she sells armor) just to catch a glimpse of her and overhear whether she’s finally moved on. That day I learned a valuable lesson: Thursday’s her day off.
She did stop in, though, and mutter something as she passed, something like, “I know you’re in there, Carl,” and, “Give it up, buddy.”
Questions remained. Who’s Carl? Why does he have the same name as I do? What did she mean by “give it up”? After some digging and phone calls, I discovered I’m “Carl.” Some might consider this “case closed,” but not me. I’m still on the hunt for the meaning of this seemingly harmless phrase “give it up,” which, in my opinion, is loaded with subtext. I think I’ll stay on the case awhile.
Whoa, did I just say “on the case”? Holy cow . . . I think I’m becoming a real spy!
I’m definitely getting that overcoat.
