A Russian Spy in a Designer Suit

If you’ve been keeping up with my anti-pop culture writings or my blog entries, it probably seems like I spend a huge chunk of my life commuting on trains and walking to and from my office, but it really is only two hours a day. But those two hours are where I get the most exposure to the outside world, and thus the only place I can observe the human species in it’s natural habitat. (Because an office is not a natural habitat for the human species.)

So anyway – check this out. Lately I’ve begun to notice this rather peculiar character on my train. He’s new to the regular commuter crowd – about two months. There are always new people to the train, but for the most part you wouldn’t notice anyone unless there’s something physically wrong with them, or they have strange habits. This guy I notice right away – because of the suits he wears.

Now, I own a couple of suits, but to me a suit is a suit. I don’t think I could tell you the difference between a cheap suit (most of mine) and an expensive suit. Until now. This new guy on the train wears very expensive suits. How can I tell? I don’t know. They just don’t look like the suits I’ve worn or look like the suits of the other suit-wearing guys on the train platform. This guy’s suits look like they wouldn’t wrinkle if you balled them up and threw them down on the train tracks and let a few trains run them over. They are perfect. They look like liquid – flowing with every move. If I’m in a suit, I usually can’t get my wallet out of my back pocket without looking like I’m trying to pull a thong out of my ass. This guy wears his suits like he’s in pajamas.

But the suit is the least interesting thing about this new guy. What is more interesting is – I think this guy is Russian. No, no…not like, “my father’s mother was born in Odessa...” (which is actually my heritage). No, this guy IS Russian. Like a “Union of Soviet Socialist Republics” Russian. Like a KGB Russian. He actually looks a bit like Vladimir Putin. Probably around 40 years old, very serious and stoic, small shifty eyes, hook nose, thin lips, large mole on his left jowl. He is a small-framed man, but looks to be fit. And he smokes like an old Buick with a leaky manifold. He smokes these long, thin, off-white cigarettes that he pulls out of a silver case he keeps in his jacket pocket.

Now, I don’t like to generalize based solely on outward appearances, but I’ve been watching this guy for several weeks now, and I’m convinced that he’s a converted Russian Spy in the Witness Protection Program. I mean, we know our government offers asylum to foreign agents for cooperation in government intelligence gathering. So where do they put these people? Certain towns in America have got to be the recipients of these transplants, right? So why not my town?

Remember the movie My Blue Heaven where Steve Martin is an ex-New York City Mafioso in the Witness Protection Program living in a San Diego suburb? He’s out shopping for Arugula in the local supermarket, mowing his lawn in his suit and wingtips, tipping everybody he comes in contact with. THAT’S what this guy looks like. He doesn’t fit in.

There’s another twist. Recently, he’s been coming to the train station with a woman. A Russian woman. Out-of-the-blue, he’s got a Russian girlfriend. And she looks every bit the part like a Western European, Stalingrad Hooker. Tall, thin, waif-like, with sharp facial features and wild hair, and some 1980’s style clothing, high heels and accessories. She stands about 3 inches taller then him, and always looks hung over. Can you say “mail-order bride?”

I can just imagine what the monthly meeting with his CIA control officer was like.

“So Vladimir...uh...I mean Bill...how’s your new life in Connecticut going?”

[In an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent] “These ignorant suburban commuters make me sick! Always rushing to get the good seats on the train, drinking their Dunkin Donuts Hazelnut Cappuccinos and eating their poppy seed bagels every morning – I want to push them all onto the tracks!”

“Now, now Bill. We can’t have you pushing morning commuters in front of trains. That wouldn’t go over well with the review board.”

“Ya, ya. Well, at least get me a woman. These American women are annoying, teasing whores. They think they are so important with their cellular phones and briefcases. Too important to please their men. No wonder they are not married. They should be at home preparing meals for their children and men.”

“Well, yeah, I know what you’re saying, Bill. You’re probably right. But for now, they’re all we got. I’m still looking into that Ukrainian mail-order prostitute program. You should check out their website. Some good-looking girls in the Ukraine.”

“That company is full of criminals. They are too slow to deliver and always screwing up the order. I had to break a courier’s legs once, just to get a deposit back. Besides, Ukraine girls are too dirty. I’m looking for a good old fashion Russian girl.”

“Well, there aren’t too many good old fashion Russian girls left in the world. You may have to settle. How ‘bout I get us a couple of nice-looking Ukrainian girls and we party in the city one night. Huh?”

“Ya, ya. Fine. And some vodka. I need some good vodka. These American liquor stores are pathetic...”

Anyways – I think he may be on to me. Every time I glimpse in his direction on the train platform, his shifty little eyes catch me in their stare. I think I may start taking another train. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea about me...