About a month or so ago a coworker of mine and I had a falling out so to speak due to office politics and an adult game of “telephone” (you know, that one where one person whispers in someone’s ear and then they whisper it into the next person’s and so on down the line until the last person has to say what they suppose to be the original message, but which usually turns out to be hilarious – in this case, however, not hilarious). So yesterday, after a month of minding my own business, as tough as that turned out to be, we reconciled. This is when I came to learn that I am actually a secret agent.
Turns out, people couldn’t believe that someone could possibly be that nice and that helpful. Disbelief turned to suspicion and before you know it, a plot had surfaced that fingered me as a “snake” whose mission it was to ingratiate myself among the staff and then report back to school headquarters about what was really going down. Seriously.
I was flattered really. However, my somewhat unrealistic dream of becoming an undercover agent has been shattered. Although I must admit I had been reconsidering ever since I discovered that to be a spy you have to carry a loaded weapon at all times and actually be willing to use it. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.
But now that I am wise to the rumor I might as well use it to my advantage. I might ask my coworkers things like, “Are you really going to eat that cookie?” or even, “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind running those errands for me?” I could turn that fear upside down and get mine while the getting’s good.
Nah. Somehow being thought of as a double agent my coworkers is simply enough.
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