I'm Not Feeling So Secure

A friend of mine has applied for a job with the federal government that requires security clearance. She put me down as a reference. Luckily she is a person about whom I have only good things to say, though I promise I will not tell the government about her penchant for martinis and her insistent feminism, both of which I consider good things, but they might not.

Ernie, the contractor doing the interviews for security clearance, sounds seedy on the phone. It doesn't help that he calls me at least half a dozen times, asking me for the name of the cafe where we're supposed to meet, the address, my cell phone number. When I listen to the message asking me for the cross street and my cell phone number, which I gave him just a few days ago, I decide to cancel the interview, but then the next message is him again, saying he found them.

He is less seedy in person than he was on the phone, and he buys me coffee, so I warm up a bit. But then the interview is absurd. He has not prepared, so he is scribbling my friend's name and address on the worksheet as we talk. He asks me the same questions again and again. "How often did you see her?" "You saw her how often?" Then he starts feeding me answers. "How would you describe her personality? Bubbly? Open? Shy? Reserved?" "She's responsible, isn't she?"

I tell him she is wonderful in as many ways as I can. She doesn't gamble. She doesn't have large sums of money from unknown sources. She loves her family. She is loyal to the United States of America. All true. He scribbles my answers on a shabby sheet of paper.

I have no doubt that my friend will be a credit to the United States of America. I wonder how much Ernie's congeniality had to do with the fact that we are nice white girls. I imagine how easy it would be to lie baldly in such an interview. I fear that Ernie will be unable to decipher his notes.

If this is national security, I'm not feeling so secure.