Visiting The FBI

IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR the office of the local branch of the FBI, you probably have a problem. Either you've done something wrong, accidentally or deliberately, someone has done harm to you, or, through sheer stupidity you have allowed someone to harm you. I plead option number three. I invested half my retirement savings with a con artist. Locally, the Bureau occupies the third floor of a prestigious bank building, granite, marble, glass, and steel. I only got lost twice, once outside the building, once within. Not bad, considering my directional disability. My nickname should be "GPS". After following the arrow on the sign which read "Federal Bureau of Investigation" down the hall all the way to the end, I stood before a dark foreboding door which I sensed was a foot thick. I pushed the buzzer, which made an ominous noise. I heard a metallic clanking sound, and timidly tried the door, which opened. In I went, and found a metal door-shaped rectangle straight ahead, leading into an austere formally decorated room. There was a way around the rectangle, and I considered taking it, then asked the severe young woman behind a three inch thick pane of presumably bullet proof glass whether I should step through the rectangle. She said yes, unsmilingly. I accidentally smuggled my car keys through, hoping it wouldn't lead to trouble. At the glass pane, I apologized for my informal attire, and explained that although I never dress properly, I usually do better than this. She didn't laugh. I decided to abandon humor, and I explained my reason for being there; to attempt to persuade the Bureau to launch a criminal investigation. She slid a paper through the slit at the bottom of the bullet proof pane, the type you see at ticket windows. I smiled, and said thank you. She didn't return the smile. I filled out my personal info, and a description of my complaint; that I had been victimized by financial fraud. One quick page. When I handed it back, she explained to me that the agent wasn't in at the moment, and that he would call me. I had noticed, during my paperwork, that at least two very official looking men in suits and badges come and go, and I would have gladly settled for a chat with either one of them. AS I prepared to leave, I thanked the stern young lady behind the glass barrier, and smiled. She didn't smile back. but said you're welcome. I have only spoken to FBI employees a handful of times, but none of them have ever smiled at me, and they all have seemed deadly serious, and downright eager to complete their conversation with me. On the way out I noticed a stack of thick booklets lying on a shelf titled "Your career with the FBI" on the cover, and a photo of a young attractive woman, broadly beaming. I fleetingly wondered about false advertising, but let the mater drop, because I had made it back through the metal detector with my car keys and no sirens, and thought I should quit while I was ahead, and safely leaving the building.