the vicarious life of a secret agent

I’ve recently decided that I just don’t have enough suspense and mystery in my life. And this mysteriousless life of mine is clearly the reason that I’ve been in a rut and, quite frankly, not nearly as happy as I deserve to be.

You never see a down and out secret agent. There’s always excitement, international intrigue, and steamy nights for people in this type of profession. I’ve seen some James Bond movies, so I can attest to this fact. And even in the rare event that James Bond would start to feel like he was in a rut, I’m certain that something would blow up, some rare British crown jewel would need saving from the hands of the enemy (most likely the Russians), and some beautiful lady would end up falling into his arms.

Working in a billing department is about as far as one can possible get from being a secret agent. Thus, my opportunity for suspense and mystery is severely limited. ‘Will our clients pay their bill on time this month?’ is as mysterious as my job gets. And being that I have yet to see a job opening for Secret Agent advertised in the classified ads of the paper, I came to the conclusion that I would have to add mystery to my life vicariously. So I decided to buy a book.

I drove out to Barnes and Noble and saw that suspense and mystery surrounded me on every shelf…books that promised to mystify my otherwise unmysterious life. And I opted for a Tom Clancy novel. While I’m not a Tom Clancy fan, the book promised me a ‘thrilling roller coaster ride of action and suspense! Sure to keep you on the edge of your seat the entire time!’ Surely the dust jacket wouldn’t make such claims if it weren’t true, so I bought the book.

I headed out later that night and forgot about the lack of mystery in my life until the following day. And after a generous helping of aspirin, I set out to retrieve my book…though I soon realized that I had no idea where Mr. Clancy was hiding. I searched everywhere that a book might be, and then I searched everywhere that no self-respecting book would ever dare venture. Then I re-searched everywhere I had previously searched. The book is gone and I have no idea where it might be. So, in a sense, I’ve achieved my goal…mystery has been added to my life.

And now I’m left thinking that perhaps a life of mystery is over-rated, because I no longer want mystery. I’d rather just have the book back.