I could do that... part 2

99% based on my addiction to American criminal procedural tv shows

If you missed what now appears to be the first instalment of this series (probably a series of two, let’s not go crazy), go check it out here. I promise you it’s worth the three minutes of your time today.

Ok, so after the first post, outlining things I am 100% confident that without any prior training or experience I could do, my friend Gozi reminded me of a couple of other things I have claimed proficiency in. Same deal - never tried them, never studied for them, but have absolute confidence in my ability to do them, and do them to a very high level.

1. Crime Scene Investigator (CSI, if you will). We’ve all watched the original CSI, whether for William Petersen’s Grissom or Gary Dourdan before his arrests for drug possession and domestic abuse, or even the Las Vegas setting. I’ve watched a lot of them, and even extended my reach into CSI: NY though even Gary Sinise couldn’t keep me invested in that one. CSI: Miami, however, was a much-welcomed addition to the CSI stable, with David Caruso’s impeccable Horatio Caine and his deadpan one-liners. Each delivered as he puts on his trademark sunglasses while the theme tune¹ ushers in the start of the episode with the scream of “yeeeeeah”. This recurrent theme became so legendary that memes were borne of it, even one in ASCII: “(•_•) / ( •_•)>⌐■-■ / (⌐■_■)” which follows the template

   (•_•)

   ( •_•)>⌐■-■

   (⌐■_■)

   Cute, isn’t it? Compare it with the real deal:

   Anyhoo, if many, many episodes of these shows has taught me anything, it’s that I could walk into any crime scene, lift the yellow tape, ignore the 'first on scene’ officers shouts of “oi! Who the fuck are you? Nobody allowed back there”, flash a badge and stride confidently towards a gruesome, mangled body, and give you a whodunnit within an hour. I’d be a combination of blood splatter, explosives, ballistics, and forensic psychology expert. A maverick, so valuable to the department that I work alone, all while wearing headphones, blasting Jay Z’s “Reasonable Doubt" album on repeat. My trademark would be soundbites of Can’t Knock the Hustle (the Mary J Blige hook “I’m taking out this time, to give you a piece of my mind” featuring heavily), when I reluctantly slide one headphone aside to listen to whatever twat doesn’t know better than to interrupt my flow.

2. Criminal psychologist - yes, it’s kind of linked to the other one, but we’re more in Criminal Minds territory now, and that is also my jam. I’m not the on-the-spectrum savant type, more the sharp, insightful, maybe even a smidgen in touch with her woo gal, mainlining coffee, driving a huge SUV. Again, soundtrack would be late 90s hiphop, some acid jazz mixed in. Who wouldn’t be in awe of Dr Kay (PhD doctor, the tracheotomy was last time) blasting Roy Ayers and Lil Kim on the same playlist? What makes me think I am remotely qualified to dredge the minds of serial killers, you ask? I may have dated an undiagnosed, but diagnosed from afar, psychopath, and despite ignoring all the red flags, I learned a few things. PTSD gives you an uncanny knack for hyper vigilance and picking up on the subtlest of energy changes in someone. I can sense unnatural prosody in a person’s speech, and as an added bonus, would transcribe their speech patterns phonetically on a whiteboard and go into some long-winded explanation and comparison with normal speech. Sociolinguistics was more my area of interest, but given a chance, I’d dazzle the Behavioural Analysis Unit (BAU for those in the know) with my expertise in pshycholinguistic theory too. I’m not quite sure the circumstances that would land me in Quantico, which is based in Viginia, but I have put a lot of thought into me being there and being integral to them capturing a fuck ton of serial killers. Definitely would be ace at this. Also, I can only imagine myself excelling at jobs where I can wear whatever the fuck I want, and after seeing Penelope Garcia resplendent in some outfits that the word ‘kooky’ was clearly coined for, I would be channeling my inner Iris Apfel some days.

3. Some random MI6 job. Have you seen the weird ads they sometimes run, looking to recruit people to work for MI6? It’s the most bizarre thing - flicking through Metro on the stinking Northern Line and there’s a half page ad asking if you’ve considered a career in counter intelligence. They are recruiting spies on the tube. Fucking crazy idea if you ask me. Who do they think they’ll find? I did once click on the link in one of their ads and it was an interesting read, until I found the catch. There’s always a catch. Pretty early on in the job description, it puts a certain degree of emphasis on the recruits not being able to talk about their work. At all. I think I remember them going into detail to include your spouse. I’m not married, I don’t even have a boyfriend / partner / other half (ughhh to all of those terms), so that part didn’t worry me. What did stop me in my tracks was the realisation that I wouldn’t be able to tweet cryptic snippets of my work life. How the fuck does anyone do a job and not tell other people about shit that goes on? I’ve got tons of stories about people I’ve met at work. There was a young guy who once asked me at the photocopier if he should be worried about getting a sweetcorn kernel stuck in his urethra after a bit of anal fun with his girlfriend. What if that happened at MI6? I’m supposed to keep it to myself?! Who are these monsters? I’m not going to divulge secret missions or the surveillance of high priority targets, but if Sandra’s husband brought home a ceramic pineapple, I would need the necessary leeway to tell a friend. So, despite knowing full well I could help rid our streets of criminal masterminds, the limits on my conversations outside of their weird looking building next to Vauxhall Bridge has me tapping out before I start. Could do it, but also they couldn’t tie me down. I am not the self-titled Queen of Oversharing for nothing.

That’s all I can think of for now, but do share yours. I know you have some. You must have some. I surely cannot be the only nutter with this crap rampaging through their brain.

1. The Who - Won’t Get Fooled Again