For three Thursdays in a row, something peculiar happened to me on my walk to work. I’d be trudging along, coffee in hand, mentally preparing for the day, when a man on a bicycle would glide past. He wasn’t just any man. He was impeccably dressed in a vibrant, mismatched suit—think a purple blazer with green trousers. And as he passed, without slowing down, he would call out a single, hyper-specific compliment.
The first time, it was: “Astounding posture! You carry the weight of the world with remarkable spinal integrity!”
He was gone before I could even process it. I spent the rest of the day standing a little taller.
The second Thursday, I saw him coming. He locked eyes with me for a fraction of a second and declared: “A truly formidable coffee-cup grip! Unwavering!”
I looked down at my hand. I did, in fact, have a very secure hold on my latte.
The third time, I was ready. I saw the flash of color turning the corner. My heart beat a little faster. What would it be today? He cycled past, his voice clear as a bell: “Exquisite rhythm in your walking gait! A metronome of purpose!”
I was, by now, completely invested. Who was this man? Why was he doing this? He wasn’t flirting—the compliments were too bizarre, too clinical, and he never stopped. He was like a wildlife commentator praising the unique traits of a passing animal.
I started to notice a pattern. He wasn't just targeting me. I saw him do it to others. He told a construction worker he had a "commanding and efficient whistle." He told a woman waiting for a bus that her "sigh contained multitudes." He was a Compliment Guerrilla, launching precision strikes of positivity before vanishing into the urban jungle.
Last Thursday, I saw him chain his bike up outside a nondescript office building. My curiosity got the better of me. I followed him inside, pretending to be on a phone call.
He walked into a small, dimly lit office with a frosted glass door. The plaque on the wall read: "Bureau of Overlooked Virtues - Appointments Encouraged, Walk-Ins Welcomed."
I pushed the door open. The man was sitting behind a desk, typing on an old typewriter. He looked up, not at all surprised to see me.
"Ah," he said. "The metronome. I wondered if you'd stop by."
"What... is this?" I asked, gesturing to the office.
He smiled warmly. "It's a regulatory body. We've identified a critical deficit in the recognition of minor, non-monetizable skills. The steadfast way someone holds an umbrella. The patience exhibited while a slow dog sniffs a lamppost. These are the virtues that hold society together, and they are going entirely unacknowledged."
"My job," he continued, "is field work. I gather data and distribute commendations. Would you like to file a report?"
He slid a form across the desk. It had fields like: "Observed Subject," "Time/Location," and "Virtue in Question (Please Be Specific)."
I stood there, stunned. Then I thought of my barista, who always places the cup lid on with a perfect, satisfying click. I thought of the security guard in my building who has a uniquely graceful way of pointing people toward the elevator.
I sat down and filled out three forms.
Now, I'm a field agent. I don't have a bike or a colorful suit yet, but I have a notepad. Yesterday, I told a stranger at the park that I admired the "authoritative yet compassionate way you threw that stick for your dog."
The look of confusion, followed by a slow-dawning, genuine smile, was better than any thank you.
The world is full of invisible experts, masters of tiny, perfect things. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to see them. And to tell them.
Keep your ears open. You might get a commendation.
Mr. Hegseth has always had bad press, from the scandals that emerged after his nomination through fairly constant reports about chaos in his office. I thought and said early on he was a poor choice—a television host playing a culture warrior who lacked the weight and gravitas the Pentagon needed. This week the Daily Mail, not an immediate foe of all things Trump, had a story in which Mr. Hegseth was described as paranoid, “crawling out of his skin,” fearful and suspicious.
There are recent reports his Pentagon is putting forward new rules requiring journalists to have their work approved before publication. Where that stands is unclear, but it’s nuts. It makes America look like what our foes say we are, a place of make-believe freedom in which even the press is controlled by the government. Which really would be an urgent matter.
You know why people say something’s wrong with this guy? Because it appears something is wrong with this guy.
Patrik Jonsson is the Monitor's Georgia bureau chief. His beat includes much of the South, including Florida and the Carolinas. Aside from covering breaking news, his work often focuses on how core American ideals -- from civil rights to free speech, from gun rights to environmental conservation -- intersect in the nation's most socially conservative region. He is based on Tybee Island, Georgia.