Quantum of Shoelace

Ron Nagasawa
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Wednesday - November 26, 2008
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I’ve made it no secret that I’m a huge James Bond fan, just like the millions of other guys who grew up with wishes to be a secret agent like Bond. My dad was the real deal as a special agent for the Army CIC. He was the one who got me hooked on agent 007.

When the new James Bond movie was released the other week, I just had to be one of the first to see it. I joked with some of the guys at work and taunted them to see it with me at the first midnight showing. In reality, I’m getting too old to be viewing movies at midnight on a work night.

I figured I’d be safe as no one would take me up on it, since we all had to be back at the office first thing in the morning. At 10 that night I was sitting in my living room recliner and my cell phone rang. It was one of the guys from the office asking if I was going to be at the theater.

Not wanting to wimp out, I told him to round up the others and meet me there. My wife asked who called and I explained to her that I was going to the movies. She knows my passion for the franchise and gave her blessing. The next thing I knew, she was waking me up and asking me if I was still going.

I had fallen asleep in the recliner and had about 15 minutes to make it to the movie. I came to realize that everyone else who was going was half my age. I also figured out that by the time I got home after the movie and woke up for work, I’d only get about three hours of sleep.

I guess the hardcore Bond fan that dwells in me came out and I navigated my Dodge Ram truck to the theater like an Aston Martin DBS. I made it in time, met up with everyone and enjoyed the latest Daniel Craig outing as 007.

Most guys, after seeing a James Bond flick, feel pretty cool as though they’ve channeled the secret agent through themselves. At least that’s how I felt until I had to wake up the next morning. Even then, that James Bond feeling was hard to shake.

On my way to work I stopped off at a Starbucks to get that absolutely necessary jolt of caffeine. The young woman taking my order had a remarkable resemblance to the Bond girl I had just seen on the big screen. She took my coffee order and asked me the question I’ve heard a million times before at Starbucks - asked to distinguish my order at pick up from everyone else.

That day it had new meaning. She asked, “Sir, what’s your name?” I struck a pose with an imaginary Walther PPK pointed in the air and answered, “Nagasawa ... Ron Nagasawa.” She looked at me with that “what the heck you talking about” face and replied, ” Right, you want room for cream in that?”

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