*** This is a sponsored post***
***All ideas are my own, and no one did an inappropriate poo**
A very dear friend of mine used to be a private investigator.
You can be forgiven if images of Tom Selleck and his spectacular lip caterpillar, Hawaiian shirts and flashy car spring to mind because that’s a far spunkier picture than a deerstalker hat, a trench coat and dark alleys that smell like bin juice.
My friend has likeness to neither of these images, however. She is an attractive, raven haired lass with a nose for the interesting and obscure.
When she first started the job I thought it sounded like ball-tearing excitement. All that cloak and dagger, watching people’s comings and goings over the top of dark sunglasses that covered her face whilst pretending she was just sitting in her car waiting for a friend.
Out on the road, keeping her own hours, just the right amount of danger, it sounded dreamy to a girl bored of her job working in an audio studio where she listened to advertising jingles from 9-5.
Some girls covet Louis Vuitton and Chanel handbags but the day my gal pal got her first camera handbag it was like she was catwalking at Paris Fashion Week. She was proud. I was proud.
Spy handbags are way cool. Have you ever seen James Bond??????
The sheen started to wear thin for me when I’d get a text message saying she’d been sitting in her car for 6 hours on a suburban street and was dying for a poo. It’s fairly easy to sneak a lady wee in the gutter, but a poo?
Impossible to do that with dignity.
The hours she spent waiting and watching were incredible. Admittedly she was paid by the hour and it was hardly back breaking work but hour upon hour staring at a house, waiting for a hint of movement suddenly wasn’t quite so appealing.
She investigated a lot of love rats. Cheating husbands, unfaithful wives, mistresses….you name it. Delivering damning images to end marriages and begin messy divorce proceedings for people who suspected something for months or years and now have the photographic evidence that tears their heart to shreds and releases their inner severance beast.
She never enjoyed handing over evidence. She believed that everybody deserves an educated choice as to how they proceed in their relationship, and she was simply providing them the tools to do so. It was a job. And she loved her job.
One day we were sitting in an outdoor cafe and she pointed to a an innocuous looking man with a ready smile who was behind the counter.
“See that guy? He’s been having an affair for the last few months. His wife hired me, and it was easy. He was so careless. She’s leaving him, probably moving out as we speak”
Who, him? Wow. He just served us skinny lattes with a smile but his life is falling apart because he is B.U.S.T.E.D.
I began to fear this clandestine investigation of broken love would affect her feelings about relationships and she promised she would pack it in before it did, but holy maceroni, it began to affect the way I felt about them.
Long nights disecting cases over bottles of whiskey and I began to question whether monogamy is even a thing.
I asked her how she felt about the job about 6 months into it and she said –
It’s 90% boredom, and 10% sheer terror.
Like the time she got made (P.I. speak for caught) while investigating an insurance claim. When she wasn’t stalking love rats, she also did a lot of compensation fraud investigation. When you put a claim in with your insurance company, or apply for workers comp and they try to fight it they will often get you ‘tailed’ to try to catch you going out salsa dancing on your supposedly broken ankle.
If you’re fighting a reticent insurance company for a legitimate claim you could consider teaming with a compensation lawyer like Firths. Their sole purpose is to claim for compensation against insurance companies whilst treating you with compassion.
The good news is not everyone my investigator buddy followed was guilty, but if there was nothing obviously out of the ordinary she would have to dig that little bit deeper and sometimes she even had to rifle through rubbish bins….. and if nothing turned up, it was a happy ending, except for her.
She still smelled like bin juice.
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