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Category:
Published: May 2007
What's worse than clerical work? Being stuck doing clerical work indefinitely at the FBI. In Part II of his masterwork, Tommy Bisceglia writes about his non-harrowing experience in the Clerk-Agent program.
Where we left off, Tommy Bisceglia was explaining his early career trapped in the FBI Clerk-Agent program, a purgatory he refers to as "Clerkdom." In our second installment of The FBI Files, Tommy continues his non-harrowing tale of boredom and the crazy things it makes a man do in the office.
The first duty of a new FBI clerk was pushing a small cart of incoming and outgoing mail throughout the office. At that point in my career with the FBI I had advanced myself up the ladder all the way to rotor operator which earned me a hefty pay rise of five cents more per houryippie! The rotor was on a four ft. metal box stored alongside my desk fitted with wheels to allow easy transportation.
One day, John, the scrawny Spiderman of the office, approached pushing his mail cart (he had not yet graduated to my lofty status). He stopped directly in front of my rotor and began clenching his fists while staring intently at the rotor. This was not particularly unusual behavior for John, but as I looked closely at his face I noted small beads of sweat that were trickling down his ample forehead. Is he having a seizure? I thought. Is he in a trance? As I rose to my feet and drew still closer, I came to the terrifying realization of what my friend planned to do. I could almost hear a faint whisperI think I can. I think I can. I think I cancoming from his direction. The man was going to try to leap onto my rotor box.
As John sprang into the air I saw a look of jubilation spread across his face that quickly dissipated into a mask of fear. Thinking back, it reminds me of the look I saw on Evander Holyfield's face just after Mike Tyson bit his ear offone part horror and two parts disbelief. His dream of victory was soon to be smashed much like his shins as he met full force with the sharp corner of my rotor. Yeowww!
As the sickening thud echoed in my ears I looked into John's sweat drenched face and his blood-soaked pants and awaited the outburst that would surely follow. Nothing. Clenching his teeth, suppressing the pain, John abandoned his cart, ran out of the office and into the stairwell to let loose a blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout the building and into the streets. Everyone ran out of their cubicles to investigate the noise only to find John leisurely sauntering back into the office, looking bewildered at me and everyone else, as if he were saying, "Did you just hear that?"
Of course, slamming our bodies into metal furniture was not the only cure for boredom that we came up with while in Clerkdom. One of our best outlets was the "Man Down" maneuver. From my days in the Fire Department I remembered doing chores and hearing on the loudspeaker, "Engine-1, Medic-1112th St and 2nd Ave, report of a man down." We would drive the rigs down to the spot and find a man on the sidewalk. One day, I thought it would be fun to have a Man Down right in the office. Here's how it would work: At any point during the day, any of us could fake fainting spells, seizures, or whatever else we could come up with. At that point, someone else would shout, "Man down!" and needlessly stress out and excite the office. It might be hard to believe that adults working for the Federal Bureau of Investigations could behave in such a childish way, but in the sober and structured environment of the FBI field office Man Down became an instant success.
Our Man Down theatrics were fairly simple at first. One of us would be filing in one of the endless corridors of filing cabinets that were reminiscent of childhood corn mazes and say, "Gee, I feel woozy, I think I'm gonna... " and then collapse like a folding chair. As the weeks progressed, we honed the technique into an art form.
One sweltering summer afternoon John and I were in the file corridors while the ASAC (Asst Special Agent in Charge) was walking by. John turns and begins to act like he is going to faint. He reaches out towards the ASAC as he walks by and then WHAM, falls full force, face down into the floor without even using his arms to break his fall. Blood is trickling out of his mouth from the blow. The ASAC lets out a confused sound and runs over, knocking over filing bins in the process. He reaches John only to be greeted by howls of laughter. Surprisingly, this did not go over well with him, and we were reprimanded and told that, were it to happen again, we would be fired on the spot. Personally, I would have given John a raise. That kind of dedication to the craft deserves an Oscar!
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