Chapter 2 - starting off in langly

A week later I arrived at a government facility in Langley, Virginia. Wearing jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes, I was a little casual even though it sounded like my physical would take place. I sat down with about fifty other recruits and had my initial orientation. We then went for our physical fitness test. The cardio challenges were a breeze, but strength exercises were a little harder. There was another tall girl, although a couple inches shorter than me, and we both had the same problem. One of the female officers took us both aside, and suggested that we do a weigh in. In what felt like a medical facility we both took our clothes off. The other girl had a nice tan, and was also quite skinny. She had tiny, perky, breasts and feet that looked almost as big as mine. I also saw what looked like the beginnings of a soft layer of fat, perhaps fresh from her first year of college? Waiting for someone to meet us I joked, "Is finding cute shoes as difficult for you as for me?" She laughed and said, "True that Sister. Not to mention jeans." I responded, "It was much easier back when I was chubby, at least then I could shop at Lane Bryant. These days? Usually I just buy pants off the guys rack and wear flip flops." She chuckled again, and agreed.

A short while later a medical professional entered. Despite wearing baggy hospital garb, it was clear that she had much more muscle on her body than either of us. She was a little shorter than the other girl, and I'd guess a few bucks short of two Ben Franklins. My new friend took stage first; first off she was measured in at a precise 72 inches or six feet tall. She then stepped on the scale, while the nurse adjusted weights. The hundreds weight almost immediately went from two to one, and then the tens slowly drifted from 80 to 70 to 60 to fifty to forty to thirty until the bar hit. Then the ones bar slowly went up to nine. The nurse then asked, how tall are you and she said, "I dunno. Maybe five foot nine?" The nurse chuckled a little bit and said that would make me five seven, and I haven't been that since grade school. Stepping back on the scale, she measured the height as just north of six feet tall. The nurse said, you must be five foot twelve then. As tall women we've all dealt with the teasing and smiled. By one pound she had missed the official Navy weight requirement. The nurse said that although she was not technically allowed to test a second time, it was almost time for lunch so let's reconvene in an hour and we'll see if I remember the precise weight.

Knowing that I looked even lighter than the other girl, I had to think quick. Pulling out my phone, I saw a Wendy's a few minutes away. Now my time in California meant I generally tried to eat healthy, but my career was on the line today! I ordered the biggest item on the menu, a Dave's Triple large fries, a big Milk Shake and some soda to wash it down. My new friend did the same, and we both were finished twenty minutes later. She said that if I massaged my tummy a little, I might be able to fit in a second course. Not knowing how to do this, she offered to help as we waited for round two. After my second giant burger washed down by another milk shake my tummy was totally bloated. Reminding me of high school, the warm almost pain from so much food felt familiar and happy. The other girl ate the same as I did, and considered thirds. We both decided that three pounds of burger was probably enough if we did not want to taste it later that day. We quickly drove back to the facility, and took off our clothes. I could almost see the lunch percolate through what was an almost concave tummy. She tapped my stomach flat for the first time in a while and congratulated me on the food baby. The nurse returned and asked if we found lunch without trying I let out a loud burp and we all giggled. My friend stepped on the scale for the second time, and it was clear that she'd hit her mark. At 143 pounds she was just barely past the minimum weight requirement. It was my turn, and the nurse decided to measure my height. She reached up, and I was almost 6'3. She encouraged me to flatten my hair a bit and take my socks off; apparently I now counted as just 6'2. Taking my turn at the scale, it was clear that 143 pounds would be a goal weight for me. The nurse shifted the weights to one thirty, then one twenty. She then shifted a few of the smaller weights to get a weight of 135. Even with my food baby, I needed a special examination to prove that I could pull my weight. Just at that moment, one of the officers in my chain of command entered and reminded the examiner that I had a special duty assignment and my body size was none of her business.

I spent the next few days being debriefed about my mission. Apparently the leader of North Korea was a guy named Kim Jong-Un, and he had an enormous appetite for cheese and other foods. He discovered Emmental while studying in Switzerland, and loved trying all sorts of new dishes. Recently his kitchen employees came from former Communist countries in Eastern Europe because he loved their fried food, and were a better fit for his culture. I guess one of the problems that the US Government had was finding operatives who could handle things long enough; he was as paranoid as he was crazy which meant that help in the kitchen had to eat at least a few bites of every dish they served him. The last US agent in this role was a former Cross-Country athlete who started at 5' and just under a buck; she could not take it any more after she passed two hundred pounds. Fortunately she had gotten him from about 198 pounds to about 300 pounds in just over two years. It was my task to see if he could be persuaded to follow a steeper trajectory. I told them that I knew what it was like living in a Communist country, and also had experience being about three hundred pounds. (I actually thought the way my curves looked back then was quite attractive compared to my skin and bones today. This could be fun!) My assignment was to make up a story about breaking up with a boyfriend in San Francisco, and deciding to move back to Bosnia to live with relatives and practice my craft. After a few weeks look for work and see if any Asian recruiters reached out about a foreign project. It all sounded far fetched, but also kinda exciting. If I could not get a gig in a few weeks, I could go home with my student loans paid off. If they ended up hiring me, and I could handle the work to get him to five hundred pounds, they would guarantee me a pension for life plus a bonus of a thousand dollars per pound. The gears started turning in my head, and I could not wait for the adventure to begin.