Let me explain to y’all how I know I’d be an alright spy or assassin. But first, a little backstory. Jordan Calhoun and I have this game we play where whenever we meet up we always try to get the drop on one another. This has evolved from a funny game among friends, to both of us taking it to levels where we are literally stalking one another just to fake kill each other (in public, mind you) with an imaginary gun, sword, laser… pretty much anything along with ignorant sound effects. So we’re at this Halloween dance party right, and Jordan is with his friend who invited us to the soiree, and he goes with her downstairs to walk her out. This counts as him leaving, meaning we have to meet back up… which means the game is on. Now, it’s pitch black in there (I guess this generation dances with the lights off), but I see Jordan come back up and lookin’ around. I’m thinking, “Oh, he must be looking for me, but little does he know… I’ve already found him.”
Listen, I submerged myself into the sea of dancing folk and became one with the darkness. I crept up behind him, acting as if I am holding a shotgun. He doesn’t see me at all, and right as I am about to put the choppa to his back and yell the most ignorant gun sound effects (I was going with *BllllapBlllllllap*) to catch this mark… his friend walks back over to talk to him.
I then realize they came back up because she forgot something. Now I’m a foot away from her but she doesn’t notice me. I’m in the blind spot of her peripherals, while I still have the choppa on Jordan. This man is dead to rights, I could dust him off right here and now, but then I’d have to explain to her that this is a game we play with one another, and then I’d then have to acknowledge the role of gun violence towards Black folk which is all over the media, and that’s a bit much after already establishing a decent first impression. So I holstered the choppa, AND ON EVERY FUCKING THING I LOVE, I DROPPED TO THE FLOOR AND DIPPED BACK INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE SEA OF FOLK BEHIND THEM.
I then sent Jordan a text on how I spared him for the sake of not introducing all our weirdness too early, but how that still counts as a clean hit. Which got me thinking that I could be a great spy… but I’d also probably be terrible at some aspects of the job. I just know the situations I can and can’t handle. For the sake of argument, just say I got mad experience, right. I make James Bond look like a G.I. Joe action figure ’cause I’m that nice. Now let’s say some government branch wants to bring me in to fight terrorism. It wouldn’t go the way they expect it.
General: Mr. Holmon thank god you’re here. We going to ship you out to the Middle East to–
Me: What? Why?
General: To combat terrorists, Holmon.
Me: Listen, I’ma tell you like a Facebook post told me: “Scariest thing to come out of the Middle East in my eyes is algebra.” I specialize in the terrorists that are already here and been here for years that y’all kept glancing over.
General: What?! Already here? Where?
Me: For starters? Wall Street.
I’d be leading a team of agents into cat’s offices, dragging them out of their meetings and exposing all their shit. “Oh, you just going to unfairly raise interest rates, bruh?” “You just gon’ gentrify this whole neighborhood too, huh? NOT ON MY WATCH.” Doin’ like Jessica Williams said and stop-and-frisking everybody in a suit and tie on that block. Down side is, I’d owe Starbucks mad money in damages ’cause most of my raids would have to be through their lobbies to get some of these bankers. I’d come through knocking over their chairs, jumping through their windows to catch these cats too, man.
Me: WHAT THE FUCK IS IN YOUR HANDS? DROP IT!
Crooked Banker: It’s a Chai latte with–
Me: DROP IT!
Crooked Banker: Guys, no. No, it’s a Chai latte with lightly whipped cream and–
Me: WHAT?! I’M LACTOSE INTOLERANT, THAT’S INTENT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON *shoots dude in the leg*
Crooked banker: AHHH! NOOOO, IT’S SOY! OH GOD, IT’S SOOOOOYYYY-oy-oyyy-oyyyyyy.
I’d be fucking petty with that shit, too. You leave racists remarks on the net? Coming for you. I’d have white collar criminals shook, son. I’d be goin’ after politicians fucking around on Planned Parenthood and women’s rights, too. NOBODY’S SAFE! They’d be like, “What unit and jurisdiction are you?” To which I’d reply, “That’s above your pay grade… but Black twitter, mostly.” Cracking down on their asses with something heavy. Obama would be holding press conferences talking how about all the dudes fucking over the economy are now doing bids up north, and news coverage would be detailing my raids on ’em.
Interrogation methods would be a bit unorthodox as well. No Good Cop, Bad Cop routine. I got the perp in there. I’ll give them their phone and a charger, and I WOULDN’T EVEN ENTER THE ROOM. As soon as they try to use the internet that shit would be lagging and slow as fuck. I’d have a big-screen TV in front of the room with Netflix (no chill included), but that shit would be on buffer forever. I’d be watching ’em like, “They’ll break at any moment now. No one can take that much buffering.”
You probably think I’m joking. I am so serious. If that’s me being held? I can’t take that shit, man. I’d be spilling names, IP addresses — I don’t fucking care. The only thing worst than that shit was said best by Ronny Chieng: You want someone to break, fuck with their parent’s computer and then have the perp walk them through solving it. THEY. WILL. BREAK! That’s a tactic that requires fucking finesse, man. I know finesse.
But I wouldn’t be perfect. If the spy game is anything like the movies, there’s always a car chase, and I’d be horrible at that. I’m a defensive driver, man. I play it safe. I’ve only had one accident on my life, I’m not fucking up my insurance rates for a car chase. Also, I’m not too sure how good I am with those heat-of-the-moment decisions. Remember in Mission: Impossible when the explosion from the helicopter propelled Tom Cruise forward?
Now I’m in shape, but I don’t have the core strength for that shit. Where they do that at? Also, when you get into the whole double-agent and sleeper-agent aspect of things I’d be useless. I’d be taking out people who are apparently on my team even though it looked like they were trying to kill me because they were undercover and I should’ve known that because apparently it was in the mission dossier but that shit was like 1,500 pages long and that info was on page 1,499 and I stopped at like page 200. I’d be having the same argument with my boss week in and out.
Boss: They were on our side, Holmon.
Me: THEY STABBED ME! REPEATEDLY!
Boss: That’s deep cover, man.
Me: They said they were going to kill me and didn’t wink or anything. I feel like if we’re on the same side you give a wink or mouth “not really” or something.
There’s probably a lot of paperwork that goes on behind the scenes in espionage as well. And I hate filling out forms. I would have to explain why it was necessary for me to zip-line across two buildings, and my only explanation would be because that shit looked baller for anyone else who saw me, even though nobody really saw me because I’m nice with the stealth… except those guards on the roof before I knocked them out. The last thing they saw was me comin’ on that zip-line like Shawn Michaels at Wrestlemania XII because I was dressed in the same outfit he had on, because why the fuck not?
Okay, so I wouldn’t be perfect. I probably won’t have a future in espionage any time soon. I’m happy merkin’ out my mans and dem in public to make light of the danger we face on a regular basis, and celebrate the relative safety we take for granted. But yo, all things considered, in my imagination I’d have the game on lock.
Guard 1: What is this spectacle here?
Guard 2: Why would he zip — wait, is… is he dressed like the Heartbreak Kid, Shawn Michaels?
*both get hit with tranquilizers*
Me: I’m in.