Background Check

My mother thinks I’m wonderful.  She says I just need to get out more.  More than once she lectured me “find a nice girl”. I love my mom, but I’d like it more if she lightened up on the girl advice.  I think of myself as a regular guy.  Work hard, enjoy sports, typical stuff.  I lack the special aura to attract the unattached.

I went straight from high school to college.  Partied a lot and also earned a degree in computer science.  Then spent a couple trying years in service and I’m now enjoying grad school.  Still a young guy but too old and seen too much to tolerate roommates who abhor a vacuum cleaners and detest washing dishes.  So, I live alone.  The GI bill thankfully covered a lot of school expenses.  A teaching assistant job and my disability pay covered the rest.  I had no problem cashing disability checks based on the time I spent in a God-forsaken country and took a bullet in the shoulder.  I hoped to finish my master’s degree this semester and finally be done with school.  My last project was a very complex program I’d written using Fourier analysis to identify patterns in seemingly random data points.  I thought it might be useful in retail marketing.  Maybe lead to a job in analytics.  The school placement services arranged several interviews for me. 

One interview was with the CIA and a follow-up at Langley.  I dutifully followed my guide down a very clean grey corridor past several doorways guarded by Marines.  The interview itself was done in an antiseptic glass and chrome office. They were quite interested in finding patterns in “white” noise radio frequency from outer space.  One of their senior analysts asked how my program might be used for that.   I threw out some mathematics jargon I hoped he didn’t understand, but I was wrong.  I assume I can forget about that job.

For much of this past year, I had a regular Wednesday night routine.  After dinner, I spend an hour or two, tediously grading student papers until about 9.  Then a brisk walk escaping the emptiness to Saz’s Bar and grill.  It was mostly bar and very little grill.  The place was cluttered with an abundance of unrelated memorabilia.  Some items were hanging from the ceiling and others on walls or selves.  Stuffed or ceramic animal caricatures alongside baseball hats and bats and faded pictures of rough-looking men sitting solemnly on a bench. 

I liked to sit in the same spot at the bar every time.  The owner, Sal, often worked Wednesdays.  However, tonight Gina was bartending.  She scurried about balancing friendly and efficient.  She knew me by now but wasn’t interested, that was clear.  The rumor was that she was married.  She didn’t wear rings.  I assumed the absence of a ring and her usual low-cut blouse was calculated to improve her tips.  I wasn’t quite convinced she was married.  Though hardly an expert, I thought most women would wear the ultimate jewelry, no matter what.

There was a woman sitting close to my spot, one empty chair between us.  I was sure I had not seen her before.  She appeared to be drinking a coke.  She had short, cropped hair and a stern solemn expression.  It didn’t look like she was here for fun.   She spoke first asking if they usually put the game on, as it was almost tip-off time.  I responded, “if Sal were here it would be on for sure, but Gina will be glad to switch channels if we ask”.    We talked a bit and she was nice.  She asked a lot of questions about me, what I did et cetera.  But yet she didn’t give off any “I like you” signals.  I asked what brought her here, then it all made sense.  She was a field agent for the CIA and doing the background check on me before they could offer me a job.  She said this is generally the last step.  After a pause, she added “you passed, expect an offer soon, but better if you don’t tell anyone”.  Then she added. “your mom would like it if you called her more often”. Quite abruptly, she left.

Gina came over and asked me what I’d been up to.  She said the woman I had been talking with was asking her about me, how often I came in, and how much I drank. Stuff like that.  Gina had some street smarts; she could read people.  Gina said, “clearly the woman was a cop”. 

I had to come up with something.  The wrong story and Gina would see right through it.  Since I lack imagination, I stuck pretty close to the truth, with minor changes.  I said it was a job thing, research study at the university. It was top-secret government stuff so they did a background check.  Suddenly Gina seemed interested in random data and analytics.  “How about one on the house”, Gina asked.  I had been coming here once a week for 6 months.  This was my first one on the house.

I reflected on what I thought was a pretty good night.  First, I expect to get a job offer.  Then on top of that, Gina suddenly finds me a bit more interesting.  On top of that, I’m drinking for free.