One of the most naïve statements I ever uttered was that I wanted to be James Bond. I had no interest in working for the government; I just wanted to live James Bond’s life.
After my busboy shift was over on a slow Sunday night at Angelo’s, I chatted with Tommy the bartender as You Only Live Twice aired on the bar’s television. When I informed Tommy of my post high school plans, he stopped wiping down the oak bar and shot me a concerned look.
“You know, that’s all make-believe, right, Matty? It’s a fantasy world.”
About the Author
Matt Kindelmann is a self-described “olde-soul day-tripper” who writes religiously, travels frequently, and brushes daily. He has taught English for the past 13 years and is presently working on a memoir about teaching and living in Brooklyn during the 1990s. You can reach him at firstname.lastname@example.org
“I know that,” I shot back defensively. Of course, I realized I most likely would never work as a British agent, but nothing was going to stop me from being a member of her Majesty’s Secret Service in my head. Pretending my 7-up was a shaken vodka martini, I sipped my drink and watched James Bond on television.
The Bond mystique grabbed me five years earlier when I first saw Roger Moore as 007 in “Octopussy.” After getting over the initial shock of my parents allowing me to view a film with such a ridiculously racy title, I was immediately bitten by the Bond bug.
I fell headfirst into the character’s formulaic world of deadly gadgets, gorgeous women, and signature cocktails. I wanted to be Bond. At the bus stop, I used a hand sized piece of a maple branch as my prop Walter PPK and spoke with an English accent to the other waiting kids.