Bond. James Bond. James F. Bond? Ok maybe it's under something else.

The life of a secret agent is probably a lot more dealing with front desk clerks than shooting people.

"I believe there's a package for me under the name 'Frank Wilson'"
"Ok what kind of package?"
"Um, a package with some stuff in it.  It's under the name 'Frank Wilson', here's my ID and Passport"
"Great, thanks, what kind of package is it? Big? Small? Envelope?"
"Let's say smallish. Maybe heavy.  Or maybe it just has papers in it.  I'm not really sure."
"Who sent it?"
"Um, I'm not actually sure."
"Well what's the return address on it, that's what I'm really asking"
"I...don't really know."
"Well can you check a tracking number, or call the person who maybe sent it, or check an email?"
"No, not really, that was all destroyed."
"Ok, so smallish, maybe heavy package with an unknown return address and the name, 'Frank Wilson' on it.  I'll just go to the back and look through the 300 pieces of mail we receive a day at this depot and see if I can't find it.  Do you have 3 hours?  Also there is a guy in a suit standing behind you who keeps telling me to go ahead into the back, I think he wants to talk to you."

Orwellian anatomy: 198Four ligaments in the knee

I wish textbooks were as interesting as pleasure reading books.  Like I wish Orwell wrote my anatomy text.  It would be like, "the sun poured in through the window and landed gently on her scapula, which is attached to the Manubrium at the sternoclavicular joint, the subtlest of joints."