Spies like us

            Whenever I watch something on television or in the movie theaters that has anything to do with spies or CIA agents, I can't help but wonder how cool it would be to actually live in the espionage world. I would have loved it if someone approached me in college and asked if I would like to be a covert, CIA agent for the United States. Heck yeah. Where do I sign? I suppose it could still happen, but if it hasn't already, the odds are unlikely. They like them young these days and being thirty-two is pushing it. However, I may be on their watch list now that I wrote this passage. Maybe I do still have a chance. Hey guys:)

            Many moons ago, when I was still a tween, my brother, Paul, once came home from school with this long-range microphone he bought, or traded, from one of his friends in class. I never really knew. I believe the microphone may have been manufactured by Wild Planet, the makers of Spy Gear, (now Spy Gear for kids). But, I doubt they still sell this particular microphone anymore. It seemed to work a little too well for kids. I remember my brother racing home from school and pulling me aside when he got his new toy. With mischief in his eyes, he showed me how this amazing contraption worked. There were two parts to the gear. The headpiece was a band that went over the top of the head with two speakers that sat directly over the ears where a wire ran down and connected to the microphone that looked like a sophisticated handgun with a silencer attachment over the barrel. My brother had me put the headpiece on, suddenly very business like, trying his best to play the part of a professional agent. And, when all was secure, he then pointed the microphone towards our neighbor's house, located at the other end of the cul-de-sac we lived on, about a quarter of a mile away, then proceeded to press the trigger on the gun shaped microphone. Suddenly, I was hearing our neighbor scrubbing a counter top and what sounded like their dog lapping at his water bowl in the same room. However, it could also have been her husband peeing in the bathroom, I can't recall. I couldn't believe my adolescent ears. The second my father knew what my brother had in his possession, that was the last time we ever saw it. He said he threw it away, afraid of the things we could overhear that we shouldn't, but I'm convinced he kept it to use against us. It would explain all the times we secretly conspired and tried to get away with something and he would always be one step ahead of us. Forget about trying to sneak out the window after curfew. He would be on the other side of the glass before we had a chance to finish sliding the blinds up in place. Maybe HE was a secret agent? Nah, not my Dad. He was just very enthusiastic about being a good neighborhood watch, I suppose.

            The other night I was up late watching old episodes of Alias from my DVD collection, and I woke up yesterday morning feeling like 007. So, I decided I would finally go to The Spy Exhibit at the Discovery museum downtown, and pretend I knew what it was like to be a spy. I had seen the billboards plastered all over the city for weeks but I'd get distracted by one thing or another and forget that I wanted to go. I was raining all day so doing something indoors seemed appropriate and it was as good a day as any to gather some intelligence for a few hours.

            After I purchased my ticket at the entrance and began my walk down the intricate passageways, a different guide standing at every new corner greeted me like I was on a journey to see the wonderful Wizard of Oz. When I finally reached the basement level of the museum I was lead to a waiting area where I was told to stay until the next introductory video started the tour. It was a large space that could have easily held three or four groups of chatty school children on field trips. Thankfully, it was just me and this other guy, who looked a lot like a younger version of Mr. Bean, but very stiff and entirely too serious. After about seven or eight minutes of standing next to the plank of wood next to me, we were lead to continue into the next room. Once the introductory video was over the wall behind the massive screen rotated clockwise to open into the entrance of the museum. A secret passage way! How cool. I want one of those in MY apartment! One of the first things that caught my eye, was something called "a pancake flapper." It looked like exactly that, a spatula that you would use to flip pancakes on a griddle. I couldn't help but wonder in confusion, why on earth would a spy need a knife disguised as a pancake spatula? Are there many spies that find themselves in a kitchen? After seeing this, if I saw someone outside of a kitchen walking around with a pancake spatula hanging down from their belt, I could now call shenanigans on that person. . Police! Arrest that man. He has a spatula! He's a spy I tell you! Maybe not, I'd probably be the one arrested.

            As I continued to tour the rest of the museum, I couldn't help but notice Mr. Bean ahead of me. I think I spent more time observing him then I did the artifacts in front of me. Whenever he stood over an object he would stare intently at it, jot down a few notes, then spend a good five minutes studying the description like he was memorizing it. Once he seemed to have it burned into his membrane, he would nod his head in satisfaction and move stiffly to his side and do the same with the next object. He looked like someone who may have spent way too many years in his mothers basement playing fantasy roll playing games or watched too many Pink Panther movies. Who knows?

            Towards the end of the exhibit, there were two guides who where standing in front of a small room draped with black velvet curtains. One of the guides cheerily asked me if I wanted to try the Laser Maze, pointing in the direction of the room behind them. "Absolutely!" I said. This was what I had been waiting for. This was my Katherine Zeta-Jones moment from the movie Entrapment. The guide smiled at my enthusiasm and led me to peek around the corner into the room behind the curtain. She showed me the lasers and told me I had twenty seconds to complete the maze without touching a beam and setting off the alarm. I got this, I thought. Pulling the curtain back into place, she went to her spot in the front of the room to set the timer as I put my things down and positioned myself in the ready. "Okay, go!" And I was off. Throwing one leg here, doing a crouching tiger there, up, down, back, twist, slide, then...blackness. I was one beam away from finishing the maze when my time was up. Dang it! I was almost there! When I walked out of the room, the guide handed me my things and congratulated me on not setting off an alarm. I don't know if she was just being nice but as I was putting my coat on she told me that most people can finish the maze but they usually set off the alarm at some point. Okay, my ego was back in check. At least I didn't alert the authorities.

            When I was just about to turn and continue with the rest of the exhibit, Mr. Bean showed up behind me. I had to see this. The guide went about the same routine, showed him the maze then went back to the front to set the timer. "Just give me a minute," said Mr. Bean. The guide looked back, as I did, and we inconspicuously observed as he removed his shoes, cracked his neck and stretched his arms. The guide turned back towards the front and with a mutual grin on our faces we rolled our eyes at each other in amusement. "Okay, ready." he called out. The guide hit the timer, and yelled back, "Go!" And, he was off. Nineteen seconds later, the Pink Panther watching, plank of wood that looked like Mr. Bean, came out looking smug and snarky, dressed in pride. Double dang it!  There went my ego. I should have left while I still had some of it to get me through the rest of the day. I'll never be a spy now. How can a girl compete with Mr. Bean?