Thank You, Officer

One of my dreams is to become an FBI Agent that keeps his own hours and has a great apartment on the beach and a great body.

Because the man would probably never let me pass a government psychological evaluation, I've resigned myself to the fact that this dream will probably not come true, at least not fully. So when I was told I would have to show my ID whenever I entered my place of business, I did the next best thing:

I put my ID in an FBI badge holder and keep it in the breast pocket of my work suit.

Showing my ID to the security desk went from, "ugh, it's in my wallet" to "I'm here on official business." It's become an amazing way to start each day. I give myself bonus points whenever I'm brave enough to keep my sunglasses on in the building.

However, recently the security officers in my place of business have caught on. Now when I flash my badge, I get this:

"Thank you, officer."

Whatever. First of all, I'm not an "officer," I'm an agent. If I was an officer, I'd hang my ID off my neck like my hero Detective Torres on New York Undercover.

Secondly, I don't appreciate the sarcasm. I needed somewhere to put my ID and I decided it was cooler to walk in as Fox Mulder rather than just some office drone.

Besides, if they keep pushing me, I'll say what I've dreamed of saying for years:

"This is a Federal case now."

This is part of my series this week: "I turn 28 in a few days, and these are the things I think about because I am an adult."