One of the true joys in my life is making a trip to our safe deposit box. It's the wannabe spy in me. On Alias, practically every episode includes a safe deposit box scene. There's always some file or computer chip that the CIA needs to recover before the enemy does, and it's always been hidden in some unknown safe deposit box. And so there's a race to decrypt some code that reveals at which bank in which city the safe deposit box is located. And then there's a race to find the key to the box. Or sometimes, when they're really desperate, Sydney will sneak into the bank vault and take a teeny explosive out of her purse and stick it on the door of the safe deposit box and fucking blow open that shit. Usually only to find that the box is empty, that the enemy found the key and has already snagged the contents.

(A few weeks ago my dad's safe deposit box wouldn't open. It was stuck, and so the bank had to call someone to get it open. He was telling me about this and I said, "Ohmygod, did they blow it open?! Did someone come with a magnetic explosive device that they attached to it and then did they say, 'Everyone stand back!' while they detonated it?!" And he replied, "Um, no, they called a locksmith." And I was like, "Oh. Well that's lame.")

But with those tv scenes playing in my mind, I can't help but get into spy mode when I go to the bank to open our box. I will walk up to the counter, lean towards the bank teller, and say quietly, soberly, and with the slightest hint of urgency, "I need to access my safe deposit box." The teller's face always transforms from a "How can I help you?" smile to the "This is a very serious matter" expression. Which is why I so much enjoy visiting the safe deposit box - because the details of everything around me fit right in with my spy scenario: We gain access to the vault via a metal door that's a foot thick. The box requires two keys - mine and the bank's - to open it. I have to sign something saying I was there. And the bank employee handles the situation with such gravitas - she leads me there briskly, she doesn't make chit-chat, and once she has pulled the metal-hinged box from its slot, she hurries quickly out of the vault to give me privacy. As if she knows that I don't want her to witness me retrieving a top secret file or a potentially world-destroying computer chip. Or, you know, my passport.

And of course it's always something mundane that I'm fetching or filing. But still, I stand there stiffly while the teller walks out, my face blank, revealing nothing. And then I do a visual scan of the room, checking the corners and glancing over my shoulder and sometimes even peering quickly underneath the table. Because you never know when the enemy might be lurking, just waiting for their chance to snatch your marriage license. I move deftly and decidedly; this is not the time for slip-ups or hesitation. And when I've completed my mission, I slide the box back into its slot (but not before completing a thorough examination of the space to ensure that none of the sides have been compromised), lock the door, and tuck the key in my bra. And then I slip, unseen, out of the vault. I sneak along the far wall of the lobby until I'm out of the building, and then I hop in my car and make my getaway.