I love James Bond movies. All of them except those abominations starring Pierce Brosnan. As a kid and young adult, I would watch each adventure unfold in a different exotic locale. Sometimes multiple exotic locales. And when the credits rolled, the phrase would scroll down the screen, Filmed on location and at Pinewood Studios in England. Filmed on location. I thought that was the coolest thing ever. Someday I was going to be James Bond. I would travel the world with a beautiful woman on my arm and have adventures in service of Her Majesty.
I am now a somewhat older adult. I have been blessed in my life to be able to travel some. Not as much as I would like, but hey, if I actually traveled as much as I’d like, I wouldn’t have a real home. I have also been blessed to do this traveling with a beautiful woman on my arm. I have not, however, had any adventures on behalf of any spy agency. (The ball is in your court, CIA) So I feel I am falling short of the true James Bond experience. Just once I would like to be chased around the pyramids at Giza by a giant with metal teeth. Unfortunately, recent considerations have led me to question if I’ll ever be Bond material.
- I really don’t like to wear suits. This seems to be a requirement in the spy world. While it’s nice to dress up and pretend civility once in a while, pretending is all I’m really doing.
- I have been unable to get Pennsylvania to issue me a License to Kill. This license is much harder to get than a fishing license. When I call Harrisburg to inquire, they like to pretend that it doesn’t even exist.
- My hair. Unless I pay attention to it every twenty or thirty minutes, my hair will end up looking like I’m a toddler who just woke up from a nap. This is not a good look for a spy. My oldest son could swim in the ocean, wrestle his brother, go through a car wash in a convertible, and still look perfectly styled. But he can’t drive yet, so no spying for him.
- I get jetlag. On a recent trip to Europe, my wife and I hit the ground running after our overnight flight. We took an hour’s train ride from our arrival city to see a Unesco World Heritage site. It was great, but on the train ride back, I fell asleep hard. Head tipped back, mouth wide open hard. My wife reported that during my nap, local teenagers found my sleeping pose hilarious. This would also be unacceptable in the spying world. I’m guessing that vodka martinis would make this problem worse, not better.
So, regretfully, I’ll probably never realize my secret agent dreams. Guess I’ll have to go with my backup plan. Fighter pilot who likes to play beach volleyball.