FBI's Moderately Wanted

Ah distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak Cleveland November of 2001 when the Federal Bureau of Investigation most likely turned its head in my direction.

A friend of mine was living in Rochester, New York and I was mulling over a change of residence. He suggested I send him a resume as he knew a lot of people in the area. I did...and as a thank you, I also forwarded a copy of Playboy with Brooke Burke on the cover as he was pretty smitten with the lass.

On the bubble wrap mailer, I wrote his name and address as well as my return information. In addition, I thought it would be fun to include a movie related joke to see if he would recognize it.

So, at the bottom of the mailer, I inscribed the following:

"January 2002 crop reports. Attention Clarence Beaks!"

I thought it would be a kick to see if he could place that from the movie Trading Places.

So, I sent it off near the beginning of the month and awaited the phone call.

And waited, and waited...

Until finally, I called him and asked if he received it. Nope.

It was starting to gnaw at me as to why that hadn't arrived yet.

Finally, shortly after Thanksgiving, he called to say that he had gotten it but failed to mention my joke on the front. So I had to bring it up.

There was nothing written on the front. In fact, he said that the mailer was not made of bubble wrap and the entire front had been typed and not handwritten.

Now who would mess with my mail?

Apparently the authorities as it had completely slipped my mind that around that time, there were rumors floating about that terrorists were going to decimate parts of the population by releasing whatever deadly gas was en vogue at the time.

WHOOPS!

I could just see in my mind's eye, some rookie Fibbie trying to make a name for himself, poring over the contents of my resume and Playboy issue and feverishly trying to uncover some type of diabolical plan. When his partner, the seasoned vet, returned from lunch sipping his coffee, he most likely peered down and remarked, "That's from Trading Places", and walked away smiling.

You think that would be the end of my postal escapades...but you'd be wrong!

Flash forward a few years.

While still in the land of Cleve, I received a magazine from my future roomie. It was Cigar Aficionado which featured an article on Francis Ford Coppola. So, again, to thank him, I sent the following: a hardcover edition of the book Skin City (about the porn industry in Vegas), an article I clipped out featuring an interview with Brian Michael Bendis (former Clevelander and comic book writer who railed against the terrible winters in the city), a page of escorts with one that he had visited twice circled in red and a tie with Darth Maul on it (he'd mentioned he needed a tie for something and that was the cheesiest one I could find).

As always, I encased it all in a bubble wrap mailer, wrote the exact address on it that he had provided on his envelope and mailed it off.

Again I was excited about the package chock full of goodies arriving at his doorstep, wondering what his reaction would be. Again, disappointment followed as it didn't arrive for quite some time.

I couldn't imagine why the authorities had pulled the mail a SECOND time because this, too, arrived in a different envelope with typewritten address information.

I hadn't added any funny commentary this time and even he didn't know why they saw fit to go through my package.

That is, until...

I read back the exact address he provided for himself. He started laughing when I mentioned that I had put "Basin City, Nevada" as part of the address.

That was from the movie Sin City...

WHOOPS!

This time, I envisioned the Fibbie (now a few years on the job) tearing open the package and spreading each item out, trying diligently once again to scan each word with a magnifying glass and, with much futility, trying to figure out how the Darth Maul tie fit into the nefarious plans (me being older and wiser too, of course). Then I saw the even more seasoned vet just shaking his head and laughing once again.

What jarred this memory tonight was when a co-worker happened upon a copy of The Anarchist's Cookbook and I mentioned that I could never buy that.

For many reasons as you now well know. ;)