Many of you have either a) expressed a desire to know why I am quitting my job in the near future, or b) told me that I shouldn’t quit after I worked so hard to get where I am. So here I am to explain to all the inquiring masses why it is that I no longer want to be called a special agent extraordinaire.

Let’s start with the basics. Do you understand what I do on a daily basis? If I am not assigned to a protective detail or away on a TDY (temporary duty), then I work on criminal investigations. Criminal investigations involve conducting records checks in various police databases and then going out “in the field” to conduct interviews with various people involved in the case. Most of the people I investigate are NOT terrorists, drug dealers, child smugglers, gun smugglers or serial killers. Rather, they are poor immigrants who can barely rub two pennies together and live in terrible neighborhoods.

In any case, I harass them, and then if I am “lucky” the AUSA (Assistant U.S. Attorney – at the state level, these same lawyers are called District Attorneys) decides to prosecute the case. Then I get the joy of picking up the subject of my investigation, slapping some handcuffs on them, and then sitting with them in lockup or court for an entire day, usually until some time after when I would like to be asleep.

After that, I get to write up a PILE of paperwork, which would keep the average person locked up in their office for about a week. As I am not an average person, I am locked up in my office for about two weeks.

That being said, I am not the kind of person who wants to carry a gun. I hate my gun. I don’t want to shoot it. I don’t want to carry it. And the belt! Do you understand that to keep the holster rigid so that you can pull out your gun effectively when you need it, the belt must be incredibly tight!?? Well, I confess that it hurts. A lot. For some reason, my left kidney gets really sore more often than not. And for a girl with only one left, that worries me.

Of course, there is always the shoulder holster. But in order to carry that on the job, you need to qualify with it. I am not even sure that the shoulder holster is the best way to carry a gun. Now, we all know how clutzy I am, so it really is sheer luck that I don’t shoot myself every morning I put my gun on! Nevermind actually holstering it under my arm, facing my back!!!! That’s practically asking for it…

In any case, so there’s the gun. And then there’s all the equipment. There is probably about twenty pounds of equipment strapped to my waist on any given day. To be honest, I can’t even put everything I am supposed to carry on my body because my waist is too small, but I digress…All that added weight certainly takes its toll on your lower back. With the amount of back problems that run in my family, I am not really looking to increase my odds of going down in a hail of agony because some disc in my back has ruptured.

Then there’s that whole “cop” issue. I don’t enjoy interviewing people for a living. Not this way, anyway. The whole process seems very dishonest. What we do, mind you, is all legal – that being said, I really feel like I am cheating these people out of some basic human dignity by twisting my words to “my” own advantage. In my heart I don’t even want to arrest these people. I can’t fault them for wanting to travel home to see their families. Granted, they are breaking a federal law when they apply under someone else’s identity, or whatever, and if you don’t punish people in some way, they are liable to commit the offense again…but I just have no desire to scream at someone, handcuff them, or sit with them in court for fourteen hours. It’s just not my bag, baby…

Then there is the PRS (protective details). Do you understand what we do when we protect someone? Most of my experience has been standing outside of hotel rooms for hours at a time, staring at a doorknob and wishing that housekeeping would show up, just so you have some diversion. Honestly, it’s not that exciting. Yes, I do have a gun on me, I have used night-vision goggles, I do know how to shoot a submachine gun (along with an uzi, M-4, shotgun, etc.), I do see Colin Powell on occasion along with other varying degrees of famous people…but the hours of my day are spent either on my ass, or standing uncomfortably, both without ever challenging my brain.

The only difficulties in my job are 1) overcoming the agency-wide discrimination against and extreme dislike of female agents, 2) figuring out where to go to get a question answered, 3) working weekends and missing out on time spent with family and friends, including weddings, graduations, holidays, and birthdays, and 4) not giving myself a nine-millimeter headache some days.

What really drew me to this job was the promise of overseas travel, and that, my friends, is an incredible benefit. I love that we go everywhere, do everything, and get to stay in five-star hotels. Honestly. And the only thing that keeps me going is the promise of this aforementioned travel. But then I get to thinking about it, and I remember that I will still be doing the same shit, only in a new and exciting location. I still don’t get time off, and I’m still expected to be some glorified security expert/cop. Not exactly beneficial when I start thinking of it that way…

What you guys don’t see about my job is how my personality changes when I go into work. I can’t be myself, and women have so much more to prove in order to be taken seriously. No one wants to invite you out after work, and I can’t really accept the invitation if I was since there is this whole crazy concept of the “corridor reputation.” The only information that gets passed around the office is rumors and lies. That sounds pessimistic, but it’s true. If you want to know where to get your access to your computer reestablished after you’ve been away for too long, no one has the answer, but if you want to know who sucks at life and is sleeping around on their wife, everyone has a ready response. It’s simply amazing. And that’s the kind of thing that, as a woman, I have to avoid. I cannot put myself in a situation that could compromise my reputation. Hence, my not being able to fraternize (c’mon guys, you all know how I get when they let me out in public).

So it’s a pretty lonely, depressing, and anesthetizing experience. I feel like I have to silence my mind and quiet my personality in order to survive each day. I can barely get out of bed and I am only thinking of the time I finally get to be home at the end. And then I get home and I am mean to Vince because I have no one else to take it out on. My Vincent is really a saint for putting up with me all this time, during this failed experiment. I always wanted to be that woman who defies all odds and excels beyond everyone’s expectations, but in this job I can’t breathe. It is pretty much a given that if I could stand working there day to day, I would be promoted and move up to some supervisory position within the next four to five years, but my heart isn’t in it. I need to go. I miss having fun in my life. I miss loving my Vincent as kindly as he loves me. And I miss seeing my friends and family on weekends without feeling guilty for taking off the time (yes, in my office, if you don’t want to be called for duty, you have to “block” the weekend).

Some people have told me that I need to pay my dues and I am totally for that – just not as a federal agent. I would much rather be happy.

So, my dearest friends and da’ momma, I really appreciate your kind words, your concern, your advice, and your desire to talk to me about my decision, but there really isn’t much more to add to my diatribe. I do not like my life the way it is, so I choose to change it. What’s funny is that tonight I just read my friend Ben’s final article in the Graduation issue of the Daily Pennsylvanian, our college’s newspaper, and in it he talks about getting into life over your head and putting yourself into situations that might be a little scary. Well, that resonated with me because I feel like I am doing just that. All my life I’ve lived with a plan. And now I don’t have one. It’s the scariest thing that I’m about to do, but it’s exhilarating at the same time – kind of like jumping out a perfectly good airplane with only a parachute and a belief in your own immortality to get you safely to the ground. With Vince, my friends, and my family as my parachute, and a healthy belief that I will live forever (or at least through this), I will soon be stepping out into the frightening world of unemployment. Let’s hope for a soft landing…