Honeypot not.

Foreword.

This writing is a result of my imagination and my experiences living and working. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For a little over three years, I worked for a semi-municipal, federally funded organization. The first two years were steady, even enjoyable. I felt good about the work I was doing, and every morning I looked forward to going in. That all changed during the final year, when odd situations and questionable behavior from others began to pile up.

One unusual incident happened during a small, informal meeting about a new device some of us would soon be using. Before the meeting officially started, people were chatting casually. One woman, knowing that I played the bagpipes, asked me questions about the instrument and the tunes I knew. The conversation then shifted to my wife and me buying a new house in the country. I mentioned a few unusual experiences I had there�"like seeing a large wild cat on our property, possibly a bobcat or even a mountain lion.

I also shared something that had happened just days earlier. My wife had spotted a weed near our deck that looked suspiciously like marijuana. We were new to the area and didn’t want the local authorities thinking we were cultivating anything. My wife searched the dial-up internet and printed a color photo for comparison. It looked similar, but not identical. Wanting to do things properly, I called the local police chief. He told me to pull the plant up, put it in a bag, and he’d come take it. Odd as the request was, I did exactly that. When he arrived, he said it looked like it was related to marijuana but not the actual plant. He took it with him, and we were relieved.

When I told that story during the meeting, most people seemed genuinely interested�"everyone except one uniformed police officer who was there. Out of nowhere he snapped, “YOU’RE FULL OF IT. YOU KNOW WHAT MARIJUANA LOOKS LIKE.”

The shock on my face must have been obvious, and the woman sitting across from me looked just as stunned. All I could think to say was, “Maybe I saw a picture in high school, but that was a long time ago.” Meanwhile, this officer�"a short, overweight man in his early forties�"leaned back in his chair grinning smugly, as if he knew something no one else did. I had no criminal record, had never been arrested, didn’t smoke anything, and as a bagpipe player, the idea was laughable. It dawned on me then that the intelligence requirements for officers in that municipality might not have been very high. If someone spends their career dealing with people who have substance problems, maybe they start assuming everyone is like that.

Another incident happened one Friday afternoon. I was in one of the satellite buildings and noticed the chief of security there with a uniformed officer. Strange enough�"but at five minutes to four, I made my escape toward the exit. My wife and I had plans and I didn’t want to be late.

A crowd formed near the doorway because a person in a wheelchair was struggling to maneuver through. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a young woman slid right up next to me�"so close she was practically touching me�"and said in a flirtatious tone, “Why don’t you come back to my apartment with me?” I was energized, caffeinated, and thinking only about getting home. I brushed it off and kept moving, but on the drive home I thought, Why me? Over the next several days, the strangeness of it gnawed at me.

Eventually I became convinced that a deal had been made between the person who had taken over my department and the security supervisor�"to set me up and force me out. If I left, they could install one of their friends into my position.

In time, I learned the unfortunate truth: in that organization, knowledge and ability meant little. What mattered most was who you knew in local or state politics. That, more than anything, determined your future there.