I've got to be honest, I was so focused on finishing the essay that I missed a key point. This essay really doesn't say much about me. Would you suggest starting anew and attempting to make an essay that reflects more on me as an individual? Or is this essay acceptable as a sample of creativity and my thought process.
"Sir, we've found him."
I nodded. "Show me."
The Interpol operative behind me handed me a photograph.
"Where was this taken?" I asked.
"Just outside of Bangkok sir."
The scene in the photograph showed a large crowd of people wearing bright clothing on streets crowded with stalls. Highlighted in a box was a man wearing a red and white striped shirt, a sleeping cap, a grin, and a bushy moustache.
Wait.
"Agent," I said, "Waldo doesn't have a moustache."
There was a brief pause before the operative answered, "Couldn't he have grown one?" he asked.
I hurled the photograph onto my desk. "In the thirty years we have been chasing him he has never once changed a single aspect of his appearance. Ever. It's uncanny. How come you people can't find him?" There was a brief pause as I seethed.
"I don't know Jack. Why can't you find me?"
I turned around, slow. My swivel chair squeaked as I completed the turn.
"James 'Waldo' Powers. How dare you face me like this, after all these years." I reached under my desk for the general alarm.
"I wouldn't do that Jack." I looked up; Waldo was pointing a handgun at me. I slowly removed my hand.
"What do you want Waldo? Are you here to kill me? Like you killed my cousin? Like you killed your wife?"
Waldo slammed the desk with his spare hand, screaming "I did not kill her!"
I snorted in disbelief. "Photographic evidence places you at the scene! Witnesses have testified to seeing you shoot her! Christ Waldo, it was in the middle of the street! Are you saying the photos were fakes? That those people lied?"
Waldo pointed at the picture with his gun, "See what good photographic evidence is? If Interpol agents mistake other men for me, how can you expect civilians to recognize me?"
I forced myself to calm down.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I need to talk." He said.
I sighed. "Then talk."
Waldo took a few moments before he started speaking. "I came here because I need your help."
"Go on."
"The night before Wilma was murdered I received a note. It was written in red ink, the handwriting was impeccable.'
"What did it say?" I asked.
"It was fairly short, it said 'You are about to get what's coming, Waldo. You broke my heart, now I will break yours.' "
I raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?" I asked.
"No I didn't." Waldo said, "That's why I brought it with me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper roughly the size of an index card. I took it. The letter was exactly as he'd described it.
"Why didn't you tell anybody?" I asked.
"I didn't take it seriously. I thought it might be a prank."
I put my head in my hands. "Okay Waldo, let's say I believe you. Who killed Wilma, and why?"
Waldo sighed, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Do you remember the woman I dated before I met your cousin?" he asked.
I nodded. "Her name was Carmen, wasn't it? Why, do you think it was her?"
Waldo shook his head, "I don't think it was her. I know it was her. I did some research. She quit her job the day Wilma died, and she immediately fell off the grid. Also, she never forgave me for breaking up with her."
"Why didn't you come to me sooner?"
'I was ashamed." Waldo said. "I blamed myself for Wilma's death. I spent the last seven years wallowing in self pity."
"So why have you come to me now? Do you know where Carmen is?'
"Not quite," Waldo said, "I have a lead on her location, but that's all. That's why I need your help."
I looked at him for a few minutes. After a while, a grin slowly spread across my face.
"So tell me Waldo. Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"
UChicago supplement, "So where is Waldo, really?"
"Sir, we've found him."
I nodded. "Show me."
The Interpol operative behind me handed me a photograph.
"Where was this taken?" I asked.
"Just outside of Bangkok sir."
The scene in the photograph showed a large crowd of people wearing bright clothing on streets crowded with stalls. Highlighted in a box was a man wearing a red and white striped shirt, a sleeping cap, a grin, and a bushy moustache.
Wait.
"Agent," I said, "Waldo doesn't have a moustache."
There was a brief pause before the operative answered, "Couldn't he have grown one?" he asked.
I hurled the photograph onto my desk. "In the thirty years we have been chasing him he has never once changed a single aspect of his appearance. Ever. It's uncanny. How come you people can't find him?" There was a brief pause as I seethed.
"I don't know Jack. Why can't you find me?"
I turned around, slow. My swivel chair squeaked as I completed the turn.
"James 'Waldo' Powers. How dare you face me like this, after all these years." I reached under my desk for the general alarm.
"I wouldn't do that Jack." I looked up; Waldo was pointing a handgun at me. I slowly removed my hand.
"What do you want Waldo? Are you here to kill me? Like you killed my cousin? Like you killed your wife?"
Waldo slammed the desk with his spare hand, screaming "I did not kill her!"
I snorted in disbelief. "Photographic evidence places you at the scene! Witnesses have testified to seeing you shoot her! Christ Waldo, it was in the middle of the street! Are you saying the photos were fakes? That those people lied?"
Waldo pointed at the picture with his gun, "See what good photographic evidence is? If Interpol agents mistake other men for me, how can you expect civilians to recognize me?"
I forced myself to calm down.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I need to talk." He said.
I sighed. "Then talk."
Waldo took a few moments before he started speaking. "I came here because I need your help."
"Go on."
"The night before Wilma was murdered I received a note. It was written in red ink, the handwriting was impeccable.'
"What did it say?" I asked.
"It was fairly short, it said 'You are about to get what's coming, Waldo. You broke my heart, now I will break yours.' "
I raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?" I asked.
"No I didn't." Waldo said, "That's why I brought it with me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper roughly the size of an index card. I took it. The letter was exactly as he'd described it.
"Why didn't you tell anybody?" I asked.
"I didn't take it seriously. I thought it might be a prank."
I put my head in my hands. "Okay Waldo, let's say I believe you. Who killed Wilma, and why?"
Waldo sighed, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Do you remember the woman I dated before I met your cousin?" he asked.
I nodded. "Her name was Carmen, wasn't it? Why, do you think it was her?"
Waldo shook his head, "I don't think it was her. I know it was her. I did some research. She quit her job the day Wilma died, and she immediately fell off the grid. Also, she never forgave me for breaking up with her."
"Why didn't you come to me sooner?"
'I was ashamed." Waldo said. "I blamed myself for Wilma's death. I spent the last seven years wallowing in self pity."
"So why have you come to me now? Do you know where Carmen is?'
"Not quite," Waldo said, "I have a lead on her location, but that's all. That's why I need your help."
I looked at him for a few minutes. After a while, a grin slowly spread across my face.
"So tell me Waldo. Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"
