shaken, not stirred

the hotel room was in complete disarray. on one bed, the pillow had been heavily stained by something red and the sheets were disheveled, three ominous tarot cards apparently arbitrarily arranged amongst the sheets. the other bed was covered in money, poker chips, and playing cards. women's fishnet stockings and oddly colored wigs were strewn about the room, and the light bulb had been removed from the night table lampshade. in the bathroom, several lines of a white powder were neatly laid out on the counter, and the name "IVAN" had been written on the mirror, perhaps in blood. in the bath was a red-stained shirt and a general disorderliness. a knock sounded very distinctly at the door, six times, just as we'd agreed. "vladimir?" i nervously called out in what i hoped sounded like a british accent. after a moment's hesitation a woman's voice said "...yes?" i rushed to the door and opened it to a group of smiling, middle-aged businessmen and women.

last week i was an actor for go game, a company that specializes in team building and scavenger hunts--"the future of corporate play", they call themselves. i played the role of a secret agent at a murder scene--dressed in a black suit, mod sunglasses, and carrying a three-olive martini around the room with me (i don't have to tell you how it was prepared, do i?). as teams entered the hotel room, taking pictures of the "evidence" in the room, i told them of the crime boss ivan, and how vladimir was the only man who had ever seen him and lived to tell about it--we had met in russia two days prior and were meeting in chicago to review the evidence one last time before he testified in court. but it seemed as though vladimir's vices and ivan's henchmen had been his demise--and ivan would be a free man again.

i like my job as an interpreter, but even if this job hadn't paid way better by the hour, it would have been nice just to have a change of pace and pretend to be a double 0 for a day.