People hear “private investigator” and immediately think of trench coats, fedoras, or maybe a shadowy figure parked outside a seedy motel at 3 AM, snapping blurry photos. In reality? Most of the time, I’m just another guy in the crowd, blending in at a restaurant or loitering in my car with a cold coffee, waiting… and waiting… and waiting.
I’m 27, and for the past year, my job has been simple on paper: find out if someone’s spouse or partner is being unfaithful. I also do the occasional parental negligence or employment fraud case, but nine times out of ten, it’s people worried about cheating. You’d be amazed at how much heartbreak, paranoia, and, honestly, how much boredom, comes with this work.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s patience. You spend hours on surveillance, sometimes for days, and most of the time you find nothing. Clients imagine I’ll catch their spouse in the act within 15 minutes of tailing them. The truth? Maybe 25% of cases actually end up with hard evidence of cheating. The other 75%, it’s just someone living their life—work, errands, maybe hitting the gym, or in a few wholesome cases, spending the night alone at a spa just to get away from it all.
You have to be invisible. People imagine that they’re super alert to being followed, but most of the time, folks are so locked into their own world they wouldn’t notice if you danced behind them in clown shoes. In a car, it’s different—one wrong move in traffic, and you’ll get “burned.” That’s the cardinal sin in PI work: getting caught. If I even think my target noticed me, I peel off and try again another day.
Forget Hollywood gadgets. My standard kit? A decent digital camera with a telescopic lens, a pair of binoculars, my phone (the selfie-over-the-shoulder trick is clutch), and a handful of nondescript outfits. If I need to follow someone into a bar or restaurant, I might grab a drink or some fries, park myself in a booth, and keep an eye out. Sometimes I’ll buy event tickets if I have to get inside—always keep the receipts; the firm reimburses you.
No, I don’t pack a weapon. Cash is king—not just for buying a quick exit, but because you never know when you’ll need to tip a bartender or valet for a little info. (Though, personally, I keep that to a minimum. Most of the job is solo, eyes open, mouth shut.)
It’s not always glamorous. My most “exciting” catch was a lawyer who traveled four hours “for a conference.” Her husband was sure she was meeting her coworker—the one she’d sworn up and down “not to worry about.” Conference was legit, but sure enough, I watched the two of them check into the same hotel, meet up at the bar, then head upstairs. My phone was full of timestamped photos—those awkward “selfies” with them in the background, just evidence, nothing personal. You’re not there to make a moral judgment. Just gather proof.
The most hilarious? I once had to follow a guy who claimed he got a new job. His wife suspected he was just a lazy bum. I tailed him as he “drove to work” straight to the liquor store and weed dispensary—first thing in the morning. Case closed.
Most heartbreaking? Pretty much every time I actually catch someone. You take the photos, you log the timestamps, and you know you’re about to wreck someone’s trust in their partner. No one “wins” in these moments. I hand over the evidence, and sometimes I feel relieved it’s not my relationship, but it makes you a little more grateful if you’re lucky enough to have someone you trust.
Here’s the dirty little secret: most people accused of cheating aren’t doing anything wrong. Paranoia and insecurity are a hell of a drug. I’ve tailed more men than I can count whose wives were sure they were up to something, only to find out they were just getting drinks with friends, or going to a doctor’s appointment, or—my favorite—sneaking off to drive their secret Porsche collection because the wife insisted on only driving Teslas. It isn’t always about sex; sometimes people just need space or have hobbies they’re ashamed to admit.
People ask me about ethics all the time. Do I feel okay tracking people? My answer is simple: everything I do is in public. I don’t break into cars, plant bugs, or bribe hotel clerks for room keys (all highly illegal). If you’re out in public, you have no “reasonable expectation of privacy.” But would I do this job for the government? Hell no. There’s a line between private surveillance and Big Brother, and I know which side I want to stay on.
This job isn’t for everyone. It’s part therapist, part detective, part professional wallflower. You see people at their best and at their absolute worst. Sometimes you save a marriage by proving nothing’s going on. Other times you give someone the closure (or confirmation) they desperately need. At the end of the day, you don’t judge. You just watch, document, and deliver the truth—even if it hurts.
Would I recommend it? Maybe. If you’ve got the patience of a saint, the nerves of a poker player, and a thick enough skin to handle sadness, boredom, and the occasional jolt of adrenaline… Welcome to the club.