When I was 33, someone gave me a copy of The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman.
Mrs. Pollifax is a bored grandmother and widow, totally depressed by her life of endless gardening club meetings and church functions. She goes to her doctor for a checkup, hoping he will tell her she has a terminal illness. Instead, he suggests she take advantage of her "golden" years by taking up some activity she has always had a secret desire to do - like knitting or Mah Jong.
Mrs. Pollifax excitedly leaves the doctor's office and drives directly to Langley to offer her services to the CIA - something she has always wanted to do. Her services are politely refused, but Mrs. Pollifax doesn't understand her dismissal so she remains in the waiting room. Moments later, a director comes in looking for an available, undercover agent, spies Mrs. Pollifax in her big floral hat, and sends her off to Mexico, totally unaware that she is not a CIA operative. Thus begins Mrs. Pollifax's very first adventure as a spy.
I loved the book. Mrs. Pollifax was exactly what I wanted to be like when I was old, and I had always been intrigued by the Secret Service. I knew, however, that the CIA was unlikely to want an untrained person, so I decided to develop special skills so that they would consider themselves fortunate to have me on board.
Well, I figured the CIA would want me to able to rescue helpless victims from evil assassins and that, to get to the helpless victims, I would need to be able to pass unobserved through exotic countries. This meant that I would need to learn a martial art as well as a smattering of phrases in a multitude of languages. I already felt I was completely competent in Western languages since I had no trouble at all ordering a cafe au lait at my local Starbucks, but I realized I would need to learn an Eastern language as well.
With my plan in place, I signed up for Karate classes and Chinese Mandarin. Both turned out to be a bit harder than I had expected.
I had figured I could get a black belt in Karate in 6 months max if I attended class every week and didn't miss more than 1 or 2 sessions each month. But the teacher was Japanese which meant he felt women were inferior to men (can you believe that?). Not only did I have to gradually increase the number of classes I took each week from one to seven, the teacher actually expected me to FIGHT instead of just watch. But I valiantly persevered and, after 5 years and a number of permanent scars and broken toes, I did indeed get that black belt.
Finding a Chinese class was even harder. This was before Asian language classes had become popular in Dallas. After a great search, however, I discovered a Chinese children's Saturday school where parents from Taiwan sent their children in order to get them out of the house. The school principal put me with the beginners and, from then on, I spent every Saturday morning with my new friends (a group of 6 year old boys) who taught me how to shoot rubber bands and roll toy cars back and forth whenever the teacher wasn't looking. Because of these interesting and addictive activities, I didn't pick up a whole lot of Chinese, but I did become quite a whiz at shooting rubber bands. And I could say Ni hao and xie xie ni with no trouble at all. I figured I would be able to pick up some more Chinese phrases when the CIA sent me overseas.
I wrote to the CIA - saying I was ready to offer my incredible skills to my country as a secret CIA agent. (I would have driven to Langley as Mrs. Pollifax had done, but it was too far.)
I sat by the phone for the next three days - waiting for an urgent call from Langley that they needed me desperately and were sending a private plane to fetch me. But the call never came. I called the telephone repair service and explained that something was wrong with my telephone but, after repeated tests, they insisted it was performing perfectly. Then I realized that, of course, the CIA wouldn't telephone me - our phones could be tapped. They would have to write to me.
I was right. Two weeks later, the mailman rang my doorbell and handed me a letter from the CIA! My bags were already packed, my neighbor had agreed to feed my cat (I told him I was going on a peaceful cruise of Lake Dallas), I had stopped my newspapers, and had even selected several recent novels to take along to read in between all my adventures. I was ready to go!
I opened my letter carefully, already imaging where I would go first: Zanzibar? Mozambique? Oahu?
I read that letter four times before I understood that they were turning me down! I still can't believe it. It turned out you had to be under the age of 28 in order to apply. I was too old!
But I saved that letter. I know that, one day, our country's Fortification Bureau will realize that regulations on age are ridiculous and they will call me. I am certain that, any day now, some important CIA director will find my original letter and scream and yell at the clerk who dared to deny me entrance to the Undercover World. And then that director will call me to say that they need me desperately and that a private plane is on its way to fetch me.
So I am keeping up my skills for that time when my country realizes it needs me. I have even added a few Swahili phrases to my long list
of languages - in case the CIA wants to sent me to Africa. I can now say "Your fields are my fields" with a perfect Kikuyu accent.
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