Spencer liked to call himself a master truffle hunter.
When asked what he did for a living, he usually began with, “Oh, it’s kind of obscure, nothing special.” He would wait to be pressed, dissembling just enough to build anticipation, then say, “I hunt truffles. I’m actually a master at it.”
People were always impressed, and wanted to know more. Spencer would tell them about his many hours in the woods, searching for just the right spot. He told them of partnerships he had had with pigs, and their eventual falling outs. He discussed the type of shovel he used to dig them up. He would even go so far as to give long stories of epic woodsmanship, camping for weeks, fighting with bears, and staying alive through the cold.
When he would eventually get the attention he wanted, he would smile, make his goodbyes, leaving his number for all interested. He would return home, and continue his research online, finding new tales to tell. Then he would pop a chocolate truffle in his mouth and go to bed, readying himself for the next social foray.
He hadn’t yet been called out on his lies, but Spencer was young. It would happen, sooner of later, and he feared that day more than anything.