I’m not exactly a private investigator, people just happen to pay me to stick my nose in other people’s buisness. At least people do pay me for it now. When I was a kid I had a really inflated image of myself, maybe I still do, because I like to solve other people’s problems. Apparently I don’t have enough of my own these days. Well, maybe I don’t. All around me I can see y old friend’s lives settling into a… pace. And half of them aren’t even out of college yet. Neither am I, but I’m personally doing my damnedest to make sure my days aren’t filled with an interminable post college two-step. That’s why the sign on my door says ‘Nosy bastard for hire’. After all, you have to have a license to claim your a PI, and I, at my parents’ request am I’m studying the sciences, not law enforcement.
Here on campus I’m mostly paid to find out who’s cheating on who, which I’ve head is fairly standard for real PIs anyway, and often to track down the real identities of people other people have met on line. That second one is even easier than the first I’ll tell you. You’d be amazed to see how just one name you use can lead to another where you put down more info, and where that info can lead, well, most people do have caller ID these days. Of course, here and there i get oddball requests (I usually turn down the ‘do my homework ones’ though I’ll do the research for you, for a rather large fee) finding stolen (often read as ‘lost because I’m damned stupid’) things I do occasionally, sneaking a peek in grade books, and finding out why such and such has been snubbed for a party invite this week.
So maybe I’m in my own little rut, more of a jig, than a two-step though. If I keep telling myself that my life is exciting, maybe it’ll be exciting. Science was exciting for me once, or at least, the thought of being better at it than other people, but I guess after a while it git a little mundane. Yeah, after a little while.
So I’m waiting for my proverbial one legged man, the lady in the green dress, who’ll make my life exciting and if I have to deal with solidly two legged men, and women in stained chemises for a while first, well, Sherlock Holmes had to eat at least, even if he didn’t have to pay the cable bill.