I'm standing in central London, it's 2:00 a.m., and I'm dressed head to toe in dark clothes. I also have on a balaclava, but it's rolled up into a small beanie hat. My arms are crossed tightly in front of me, and I'm lost in thought, staring at a large red stone building. Inside this fortress-looking building is a multinational trading bank. Someone behind me clears their throat and calmly asks, “What are you doing?” Without even thinking, let alone looking around, I answer with the truth: “I'm trying to work out how to break into this bank.” The intake of breath behind me snaps me out of my thought process.
I then turn to the voice and see two policemen staring at me in disbelief.
But my job isn't just about breaking into buildings; it's also about convincing people to believe me, whether I'm speaking the truth or lies. So, I did what anyone would do: I talked my way out of that situation with the truth, by explaining what my job is.
The truth is always better than lies. If you're going to tell a lie, it should be simple, short-term, and preferably preplanned. Anything else can quickly unravel.
I have a very interesting job: I break into things. Not just buildings but also digital fortresses and anything and everything that has a security control.
I never knew what I wanted to do when I was a kid at school. All I knew was how to survive the extreme poverty and abusive home I grew up in and how to circumvent systems and processes to keep myself fed and as safe ...