posted on Feb, 25 2010 @ 02:57 PM
I've dealt with the FBI on several occasions, although not in the investigation aspect... I do marketing for a software company in Washington,
DC, a company that supplies computer upgrades and training to many agencies and departments around Washington.
One thing that always amazes me about these supposed MIB outfits is how backwards they are technically. I mean, some of these agencies are
still using computers left over from the 1970s with antiquated legacy systems that can only just barely interface with the Web... like, on a
And all of the FBI folks I deal with are just your basic paper-pushers who hate pushing paper and who spend a lot of time on FarmVille.
Just kidding about FarmVille, but I wouldn't doubt it.
Anyway, the only time I ever met a dyed-in-the-wool FBI AGENT — like one of the characters you think of when you think "FBI agent"
— was way back in the 1980s. I was sort of in the same line of work back then (corporate marketing), and one night a client asked me to meet
her and her boyfriend at Bennigan's to talk a little business.
Which usually meant talk a little business while she soaked up a few Bloody Marys, okay? Hey, in marketing, you appease the
client. Always. If she wants to meet on the beach at midnight for cocktails and "talking business," I'm there.
So, I arrived at Bennigan's at the appointed hour, spotted my client and joined her — and her boyfriend — at their cozy little corner
booth. And, I swear to God, this sonofabitch was making me nervous at a distance.
Guy was dressed in a black suit, thin lapels, white button-down shirt, thin black tie, short dark hair that — I am not kidding — looked like it
contained a quart of 30-weight. He had an oil slick on his forehead. And he was wearing big, dark sunglasses.
Dark sunglasses. In a dimly-lit corner of Bennigan's. At night. HIT IT!!
I kind of warily advanced on them and sat at their table (on her side) and introduced myself. She greeted me and introduced her "boyfriend
who works for the FBI"... She was already working on her second Bloody Mary, and I think he was drinking Coke. She was all talky and
bubbly, and he was stony silent, so we went right into discussing whatever her project was. The MIB didn't say a word.
Suddenly, about ten minutes into this "meeting," the MIB leaned forward and interrupted her to ask me a question:
"So. You're an artist?"
I was a little taken aback. The guy was, like, completely weirding me out. I said, "Well, no, I'm a graphic designer in corporate marketing."
He snapped back: "Same thing, isn't it?"
When people ask me that question, I can either take twenty minutes to educate them on the difference between fine art and commercial graphics, or I
can pass them the funny answer. So I gave him the "funny" answer.
"No, it's not the same thing. See, I get paid for what I do."
Well, my client thought that was hilarious (because she was getting a buzz), but the MIB didn't even crack a grin. Instead, he replied in
"So, you're saying that artists don't make any money. But you do?"
Man. This went on for about half an hour before I finally excused myself and bade my client adieu.
It wasn't until several years later, in 1996, that I saw a guy in a movie who so reminded me of that client's FBI boyfriend.
Anybody remember Jeff Combs in "The Frighteners" when he played FBI Special Agent Milton Dammers?
— Doc Velocity