Shelly Mateer - Single in the CIA

Shelly Mateer

Copyright 2015 Shelly Mateer

All rights reserved.

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Published by False Buddha LLC

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015905626

ISBN-13: 978-0692422281

ISBN-10: 0692422285

Cover photo by Richard A. Latoff

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

All statements of fact, opinion, or analysisexpressed are those of the author and do not reflect the officialpositions or views of the CIA or any other U.S. Government agency.Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting orimplying U.S. Government authentication of information or Agencyendorsement of the authors views. This material has been reviewedby the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information.

Table of Contents

I began this book as a way to document myexperience working for the CIA, with the hope of creating ahumorous look at my social and workplace interactions whileemployed there. I wanted to purge the memories and contain them onpaper before I lose them to mommy brain, or block them out as somesort of subconscious self-protection device. It is meant to be alighthearted, sometimes comical glimpse into what was frequently avery ugly experience. I wrote this book simply to show what onesingle females experience in the CIA was like. I intentionally didnot write about the work that I did in the CIA. The jobs justwerent that interesting and the CIAs Publication Review Boardwould likely redact it all anyway. Writing this book has beensomewhat therapeutic; it has made me appreciate my current lifethat much more. Also, there is nothing like hindsight to magnifyand highlight ones dumb mistakes!

I want to thank my husband for giving me theopportunity to write this book and for showing me what it is liketo truly be appreciated and treated with respect.

Certain names and identifyingcharacteristics in this book have been changed.

In January 2004 I eagerly began my new andhighly anticipated career in the CIA, in the National ClandestineService (NCS). I had been trying for nearly a decade to get in, andit had finally happened. For my first assignment, I was ploppedright onto a desk covering a European country. I was a StaffOperations Officer (SOO). At twenty-nine I was older than most newhires, but I could pass for very early twenties. I was told I wouldeventually be able to get the operational training I wanted, but inthe beginning I would work on a desk for a while to learn theropes. Needless to say, I was very excited, I was finally in!

I worked under a forty-something-year-oldwoman named Karen and a trainee in his early twenties. Karen was avery high-strung woman, who was always running around frantic, andyou never quite knew why. I quickly learned that this was the wayto get promoted in the Agency. The more you talked about how busyyou were, the more credit you would get with other employees andyour supervisor. I, on the other hand, have always been one toquietly complete my work, not expecting or wanting any excessattention for working hard. I soon came to realize that Karen wasjust one of a zillion frazzled, seemingly batty women in theAgency, women who you never wanted to start a conversation withbecause it was impossible to have a short chat with them. Theirexplanations were always hours long and circular, leaving youwondering what your question was when you began this insanity. Itdid not take me long to discover that I was surrounded by women ofthis sort. Just down the cubicle hallway was Denise, anotherforty-something-year-old woman who made me wonder daily how shepassed the psychological exam to get into the Agency. I have alwayshad a habit of being just a little too nice to people, and Denisetook full advantage of this. If I did not manage to sneak byDenises cubicle without her seeing me, which was nearlyimpossible, I would often be stuck for at least half an hour ofdraining monologue peppered with complaints and gossip about anyoneand everyone in the office. Frequently I found myself having toslowly back away down the cubicle hallway, just to end the babblingone-sided conversation that she was having. Once to the supposedsafety of my cubicle by the window, I would then be cornered by theequally talkative Karen.

The monotony of my days was broken only bythe strange interactions I would have with men. One afternoon I hadthe honor of meeting Pierre, an older gentleman who had retired andcome back as a contractor, after September 11th. Pierre would visitKaren often, and they would babble happily together in French.Being the young, bright-eyed blonde that I was, Pierre took aninterest in me. Mostly he would ignore me when Karen was around,but if she was not at her desk, Pierre would take the opportunityto chat me up. In a cloud of Pierres overwhelming cologne, I wouldlisten to his stories and thought he seemed like a nice old guythat I could think of as a mentor.

One day, Pierre asked me to go to lunch withhim. As the compound was so large, people did not typically go farfor lunch. Most employees either ate at their desk or went down tothe cafeteria. Pierre wanted to go out to lunch, off the compound,and I agreed, thinking what a great time this would be to pickPierres brain about my future in operations. To my surprise Pierredid not want me to tell anyone in the office that I was going tolunch with him. I was confused as to why we needed to have a covertlunch, but I decided it was nobodys business anyway. I snuck outat the appointed time and went to a designated spot near one of theparking lots where Pierre drove up and I jumped in his car as hedrove through the rows of parked cars. Pierre said he wanted topractice a rolling car pick-up with me. We went to lunch down theroad at a place I had been to before. We discussed my desire to beoperationally trained, my life, and his experiences as a high levelofficer in the CIA (which included stories of office blow jobswhile he was Chief of Station in a European country). Overall itwas a normal outing, aside from the sneaking in and out of thebuilding and somehow managing to avoid the prying eyes of Deniseand Karen. Pierre and I continued to chat here and there in theoffice when he was not traveling. I had made a new friend.

About six months into my employment, Karenmentioned that there were some training classes that I should takethat would teach me the desk job that I had been doing. Happy tobreak the monotony of daily name traces and the never-ending floodof emails from nutcases who would write to the CIAs website askingabout Jennifer Garner, I went off to my first real training classoutside of the building for two weeks. The class was taught bywomen about the age of Pierre, who worked at the Agency back in thedays long before computers when cables were written on typewritersand people smoked in their offices. It was during these two weeksof torture that I decided I did not want to work on a desk anymore. I had come to the realization that the operational trainingthat had been dangled in front of me was probably not likely toever materialize. There were long waiting lists to get into thetraining and no real urgency for me to get certified since I wasonly sitting at a desk in Washington DC.

One day after being in class all day I metup with Pierre at a nearby restaurant for happy hour. I vented myfrustration and explained my decision to try to change jobs. As thedrinks flowed, I also vented about my very unhappy relationshipwith my live-in boyfriend. I typically did not open up to people atwork about my personal life, especially since my boyfriend did notwork at the Agency, so to anyone working there he was nonexistent,he was an outsider. Usually when anyone in the Agency heard that Ihad a boyfriend who did not work there I would be quickly informedthat it would not last and that I would marry a co-worker andbecome part of a tandem couple. To my surprise, after I had pouredmy heart out, Pierre took this opportunity to profess his desire tomake love to me. Not quite knowing how to handle this confessionfrom my grandfatherly new friend, I laughed it off while Pierrestared longingly at me. Soon after, we left the restaurant, Pierreholding my hand.