A few years ago, some nimrod at a CyberCafe asked me what I do for a living.
In retrospect, I wasn’t wearing my name tag or holding up a banner with my credentials printed in large Bodoni font, so for all he knew, I was a professional Internet Surfer.(Close but no cigar)
Still, it seemed odd to me. He knew not my name…Hell, he knew nothing of me. And I didn’t know him in the slightest. So for his first question to me to be “What do you do for a living?” I figured he may just be curious. I thought about ignoring him like I normally would. However, something made me suspect that if this joker had caught me outside a circus juggling oversized bowling pins with a giant red nose on my white painted face and a rainbow colored afro, he’d still ask what I did as a profession. ‘Not the sharpest tool in the shed. This could be fun.’ I thought.
So I looked around suspiciously before leaning over and asking him: “Can you keep a secret?”
His eyes got big and he covered his mouth with 3 fingers, pushing his head back and somehow still managing to nod in that weird posture. I asked him to come closer and then began making up a lie.
“I’m a spy.”
He gasped so hard, I think my ears popped. I looked around the room in disbelief. This joker was taking me seriously. I began telling stories and he listened ever so intently.
I figure when it comes to lying, at least be creative. Entertain your pawns. To answer the question honestly, when I’m not here rambling, I’m either buying, selling or designing something. I’m also currently trying to take over the world with misterNV and our other affiliates. My hobbies include staring contests with nuns and clubbing with baby seals(if you laughed, you have issues.) Other than that, I’m either walking down the street, breathing over your shoulder or at a local pub near you buying your pretty cousins drinks while beating you at a game of pool.
Anyhow, I was halfway through telling this guy a story about how I saved some random dignitary’s life in Panama(at this point I had drawn a small crowd into that corner of the Cyber Cafe and was in full BS mode), when I noticed a lovely long-legged lass standing in the doorway. She’d been there long enough. She was obviously mixed or something, and although everything was nice, there was more sugar than spice.
“You’re a really good liar.” She scoffed at me.
I smiled back: “Hello to you too. Nice jeans.” They were lovely. I guarantee it.
She rolled her eyes and held back a smile, then grabbed his arm and walked off.
This past Monday, many, many years after this incident, while walking through Yaya Center, the lady in, question somehow spotted me and called me out. I could not remember her to save my life. As I am currently spoken for by a very vicious ninja Femme Fatale, I was not about to get caught on security cameras flirting with some modelesque broad. Then she reminded me of that crazy occurrence once upon a time. Embarrassed, I chortled and apologized. I explained that back then I was a bit of a drunk and insanely immature.
“Back then, I was a part-time attention hog, full-time liar and a freelance story teller. I quit those jobs” I added.
She laughed and asked “So what do you do for a living now?”
I looked around the room suspiciously and then whispered “Can you keep a secret?”