TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: A VISIT FROM A GUY FROM THE FBI

by Grant McGee

There’s a story out of El Paso about some dude who was standing outside the FBI office there with his camera.  Some FBI agents came out in their suits and ties, confronted him and took away his camera.

I reckon he never heard the old saying if you don’t want the bear to attack you don’t poke it with a stick. 

Actually that’s not an old saying, I just made it up.  But you’d figure people would have some common sense about such stuff.

This incident reminded me of the time I came face-to-face with a real, live FBI agent.

I was kicking back one sunny afternoon at my bicycle shop when a customer came in.  He seemed like an average Joe, dressed like an average Joe, just browsing around.

“Where are you from?” I asked.  I like to shoot the breeze with folks about where they’re from.  It lets my brain get away for a bit.  Besides, I might’ve been where they’ve been and there’s a conversation starter for you right there.

“Roswell,” said Mr. Customer.

“Oh hey,” I said, “I used to live in Roswell.  What do you do down there?”

“I work for the federal government.”

Federal government?  Roswell?  The first thing that popped in my mind, to me the biggest Federal presence that I knew of was the Bureau of Land Management.

“So you work for the Bureau of Land Management?” I asked.

“No,” said the customer.  “The FBI.”

A strange tingly sensation rolled over me.  The theme from the 1960’s TV show “The FBI” played in my head.  Visions of Efrem Zimbalist Junior, the star of the show, appeared in my head, kicking ass and taking names for AMERICA!

“So you guys are like lawyers with guns who have super psychoanalytical mind-reading powers, right?” I smiled.  I opened a drawer on my desk.  “Dang, no aluminum foil in here so I can make a hat to keep you from reading my mind.”

Mr. FBI smiled.

“So seriously,” I went on.  “Are all you guys law school dudes?  Highly skilled in argumentation and debate and stuff like that?”

“No,” he said, “My degree is in Electrical Engineering.”

 “Can I see your badge?” I asked.  “I’ve only seen them on TV, like on that FBI TV show with Efrem Zimbalist Jr. or Mulder and Scully’s badges on ‘The X-Files.’”

Mr. FBI fished around in his pocket and produced his badge.  It was a coppery thing about the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar.  It wasn’t in a little wallet thingy with his picture ID like Mulder and Scully flashed when they were investigating an X-file.  I silently wondered to myself if this dude was for real.  But I only silently wondered.  There wasn’t any way I was going to challenge him on if he was a real FBI agent.

“Cool,” I said.  “But doesn’t that come in a wallet thingy with your picture ID?”

“On television,” he said.

“So you ride a bike?” I asked.  “So you’re like…a normal guy with an engineering degree who works for Uncle Sam.”

Mr. FBI gave me a sideways glance.  He smiled again.

He bought some inner tubes and stuff and was on his way.

When I told my friend Texas Michelle I had a customer who was an FBI agent she looked at me sideways.

“He was just shopping,” I said.

“Oh SURE he was ‘just shopping,’” said Texas Michelle.

“Yeah,” I said.  “But you know, I did write that article that one time about the dude who came into my bike shop and was talking how Obama went to a ‘secret school’ run by the CIA in Hawai’I and I called “Bullsh*t” because my brother went to the same school years earlier.  Maybe they saw me writing about that as a problem.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Texas Michelle. “You know it doesn’t take much to get those people’s attention.  There was that time that we were driving back from Oklahoma and we slowed down to look at an 18-wheeler with some “We-guard-the-President” kinda cars as an escort…we were curious…and one of them leaves the convoy and gets right up on our bumper and follows us real close for a couple of minutes then left us alone.”

“Nah,” I said.  “He was just shopping.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Texas Michelle.

“Maybe he was checking me out over that article I wrote and decided I wasn’t a threat to national security.”

Texas Michelle burst out laughing.

“Nah,” I said.  “He was just shopping.”

At least I think he was just shopping.

I’m pretty sure.

I reckon he was.

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