Jock's Jocks

Did they just sound like those titles that you might find on the cover of an edition of Cosmo?
It recently dawned on me that we rarely see our friends, housemates or even parents at work, and so I understandably jumped to the conclusion that they might all be spies.

Imagine your living with an accountant, who comes home every night complaining of how the water cooler ran out, while they refer to their loopy co-workers as ‘loop holes.’ They might even remark how they couldn’t wait to come home and ‘debit’ some love from their ‘partner.’ However this white shirt, bad tie wearing number-eater might in fact be putting up a rather tax-offset front. (Like all relationships, people need to contribute equally so the love runs strong, so they need to ‘balance their love-ledgers.’)

The water cooler may in fact have run out, but that might instead mean that they ran out of ammunition in their secret machine-gun. Those ‘loopy’ co-workers could in fact be hard-ass, seething spies who have fallen into enemy hands a few times too many. I’m not sure what those enemy hands may have done, but it certainly didn’t make them love life more.

Instead of crunching numbers, our accountant could in fact be crunching hard middle-eastern desert sand under their boots, dropping half smoked Cuban cigars that sear into the sand as if they were prawn crackers in black bean sauce. Over dinner one night, I may complain about the traffic or how the milk might have gone slightly off, while he is sitting next to me comparing my wimpy peak-hour traffic story to the crowded streets of an anarchic African nation he was driving through two days prior.

Maybe my parents are spies, and all those times they came home late from work might have been because their flights from Beirut were delayed. While they were photographing blueprints for weapons guidance systems, I was probably growing impatient as the Bold and Beautiful was a couple of minutes late. Later that night, I would complain to them how I got held back at school for being a bit too loud in class, all the while they were getting their finger-nails pulled out by a sweaty, unshaven bloke wearing a stained singlet in a dungeon somewhere far away.

My next question is, how come I’ve been left out of all this? I thought I would make a great spy, as I can act, make wisecracks and appear clueless. Who would suspect a primary school teacher might in fact be blowing up ammunition dumps and flipping through laser beams in a perfectly timed break dance? I like dressing up, especially sometimes in the bedroom, but heck it’s all practice isn’t it? I make a pretty good pretend doctor, so I think I may as well put that on my spy CV.

After realising that you're all spies I now feel alone and excluded from you crime fighters, and it’s circumstances like this that turn people like me into super-villains who want to take over the world by controlling the weather or shrinking people. So if anyone is looking for any work and wouldn’t mind being sneering henchmen wearing matching orange suits and helmets, then drop me a line. Austin Powers 4? More like Austin Cowers 4.

# posted by Jock @ 6:07 PM