As I sift through the multitude of projects that I have tinkered with over the lovely yet sometimes painfully long summer months, I realize that I have half planned far too many writing projects for myself. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life writing. Should I ever figure out how to combine it with my other love, photography, then I will be fulfilled, but for now I am terribly disorganized and wonder if this is truly my calling. It is entirely possible that I may be more appropriately suited for another line of work altogether… and I think I know what that is.
I am not an avid TV watcher, but every once in a while a show comes along that completely hooks me. Homeland is that show. I have just watched the entire first season (thank you Apple TV! how I adore you:) in less than a week. I won’t bore you with a lengthy description of the show itself, nor of the cast, but I will describe one scene for you. CIA agents are interrogating an Afghan diplomat whom they believe to have information pertinent to their ongoing investigation. After seemingly several hours of questioning (in a predictably dimly lit, grungy room) the presumed terrorist is handed a purple Crayola and a sheet of paper. He is instructed to write down the names and addresses of any and all associates of the ring leader… then he is left.
This is where my possible new career comes in.
In order to extract the information from the now exhausted (and of course grimy and sweaty) Middle Eastern man, music is blasted at him in short bursts every thirty seconds or so. I recognized the genre immediately… Dubstep (I have a 14 year old son) After a few minutes of this, the poor frazzled man is overcome and in his shaky hand he grips his little purple crayon and begins writing names down. We the viewers are supposed to marvel at the brilliance of the CIA and their supposed humane method of extracting information. All I could think was “That terrorist is a PUSSY! That’s every bloody day around this joint! What’s wrong scary criminal? Can’t handle a little electronic music blasting at you repeatedly at deafening decibels?”
It reminded me of another account (non fiction this time) of how interrogations were conducted. They apparently woke the suspect every three hours or so and made him move rooms. Have none of these terrorists ever had children? I spent approximately the first 5 years of parenthood doing precisely that, in order to placate my own little terrorists. Add to that some kicks to the stomach with (albeit tiny but undoubtedly powerful) feet and some biting in the really early months when the hunger of said tiny terrorists was peaking. and yet I persevere with my quest (motherhood!)
So there we have it… I clearly am fully equipped to withstand several different methods of interrogation. Now how do I find a possible employer?
**** this is intended solely as a humorous article and not intended to offend or demean any individual who has been subjected to any form of torture or interrogation… seriously! *****