You have a thing about making things up?

I'm in this acting class, where I and my partner (who is this arrogant chump that has so much "experience" doing improv that he can't possibly be bothered to follow the directions of the assignment, but anyway) are supposed to act out a scene of forbidden love. So we came up with this funny idea about a psychiatrist that falls in love with her patient, and we get up on stage and we improvise it and its awful because no matter what I did, he would say, "Why are you saying that? You're crazy!" We are supposed to come back the next class and do it again, better, so we come back the next class and the teacher comes up and says "Have you created a backstory around your character?" I can't remember what we created last time, so she starts asking me if my character is married, and I say yes. Does she have a kid? And I say yes. What age? I say four. Girl or boy? I say boy. What's his name? I say Sheldon, at which point my partner interrupts- hey! we already decided it was a two-year-old girl named Mythria! Oh, right. I forgot. In fact, I didn't even stop to consider if I had created this info before, I just started doing it. He goes- You have a thing about making things up, don't you? Despite how much I have secretly hated him up to this point, I have to love this. Nothing truer was ever said. I said yeah, it's like a disease. A mental disease. Actually its just being a compulsive lier, that's all. Under stress, I either compulsively reveal more truth than you could possibly want, enough to probably get me thrown in jail in many cases, or I compulsively lie. Typically I do the opposite one of the one I should be doing (because otherwise, what fun would it be?).

Which is why it's lucky I have this new job. It is a job of acting and lying, which I have to do because I am ashamed of what the job actually is. Or else I'm afraid people will shoot me. One or the other or both at any given time. I have to drive around to the homes of people who are going through foreclosure and find out if they still live there so the bank will know if they are going to have to evict them or not. Gross, huh? I have to knock on the door and find out if they are the owners of the homes or tenants without actually letting them know I am "from the bank." Strangely, I enjoy this. I never know what I'm going to say as I approach the door. I do have some staples that I use, though, when I'm in a pinch, although I try to think up new ones just to keep things interesting. One of my old standbyes is to tell people I'm a location scout for a film. We were thinking of using the front of your home in a film, would that be okay with you? I need your name and to know if you are the owner of the house and so forth. It works great, but usually gets me involved in a long conversation about the "film," which I have to make up as I go. They ask me the name of the film. I look down at my shoelaces and come up with "lace and leather . . . but its not a porno, don't worry." It goes on like that and they won't let me leave. The more complicated my lies get, the more fun I'm having, it's like an endorphin rush. Do I feel sorry for the people? Strangely, no. I should, I suppose, but I'm just not that good of a person.