Some call me McGyver, others know me as "the nice guy down the hall," but the people who know me best call me "plain mean." I'm Chuck, and I'm a student.
It all started on a hot October day. I staggered into my room as I always did in the middle of the afternoon, needing water but craving something stronger. But on this day, a correspondance was waiting for me. I checked the sender's name, and was shocked to find it from a guy named "Wayne." Wayne... now, there was a name I hadn't heard for a while. Wayne and I roomed together in college and for a summer, but then he went off to Italy and I stayed on at college. He played a mean guitar, he was snuggly, and he was fueled by a fire of unrequited love. A blues man with mojo, Wayne was a horny bastard. And now this...
d-doo-dude.i got some crazy shit to tellyou.
but it will have to wait until i get back from sicily. ;)
hope you're doing well.
yo'bitch
I scratched my head in consternation. Wanye only goes "d-doo-dude" when crazy shit is afoot. Why was he being so cryptic? What did the small smiley facely face mean? Wayne only smiles after beer or sex (I infer the latter). But he only drinks wine in Italy... which means: sex. He wasn't telling me about sex, and was playing coy. So I decided to play his little game, and wrote
hopefully, that means you got laid.
No reply.
Something was afoot, and I was being kept in the dark. I needed information, and my Italian source (Wayne) WAS the conspiracy.
A few days later, as I was hanging out in a place called Sharples, I ran across my information, Josh. He was sitting in a booth looking out the window in a pose that, in an X-files episode, would require him to be smoking multiple packs of cigarettes at once1. I subtly gestured at him, asking if it was safe to join him; he nodded his assent, and I sat down. This somewhat shady character had a penchant for Pino's2 pasta3, and I had a pack. In 80 seconds, I had a steaming feast al dente before him. His eyes lit up, he started to eat.
1 Josh wants to be referred to as the un-manicured man
2 For the casual traveller: Pino's Pasta is an instant pasta machine
in Sharples that promises more than it delivers.
3 This entire section is made up
Chuck: Wayne.Elizabeth is Waynes friend from State College. She goes to Wellesley. Her roommate and best friend last year was Anne Proctor. Wayne and Anne are good friends. Anne is studying in Florence. The pieces were starting to fall into place.
Josh: What about Wayne?
Chuck: What's he been up to?
Josh: I heard Anne visited him. (Slurps up some Pino's)
Chuck: So, how is she visiting him?
Josh looked at his empty plate, then at me. With a sigh, I pulled out another packet of Pino's, and in 80 seconds he was talking again.
Josh: All I can tell you, Mr. Chuck, is that she was going to stay in a youth hostel, and she ended up staying Il Centro.
He whipped out a packet of cigarettes and lit one up. Suddenly, a shot rang out and he fell over, clutching the plate of Pino's to his chest. It was not an annoying conspiracy-coverup -- just an irrate Sharples checkout woman enforcing the no-smoking policy.
So now I was out an informant, but I had one useful piece of information: Anne Procter was somehow tied to Wayne's silence.
I decided I needed to relax. I take pleasure in bathing in the minty green coolness of computer moniters, so I headed over to Beardsley and logged on. I was not logged in 30 seconds when a mysterious e-mail showed up in my PINE sesssion, subject "we need to chat, my friend". Swatties don't have friends, so I knew this was an external source leaking valuable information. The bulk of the e-mail was the message,
i have serious concerns about the future of wayne's song-writing career. we've discussed this matter previously. it could be the end.My brain set to work furiously decoding this message.
I needed to snoop more; if my roommate was gettin' some loving, then my whole world view would be forever altered: I mean, screw the Copernican revolution, this is WAY BIGGER. I needed to milk my secret source for more information. But, how?
The answer to this question was, "do what Bogie would do". Charm the socks off of my informant... get some info... say something cool... then run. So, I establish a safe randevous with my informant.
All that afternoon, I nerviously paced around my room, staring at my telephone, waiting for it to ring. When it did, I pounced on it, and sauvely pretended like nothing was amiss. Subtlely, so subtlely this mysterious person was not even aware I was doing it, I forced detail after detail from her even as we exchanged what the idle listener would deem banal pleasantries. By the time I had hung up the phone, all the pieces had fallen into place.
I can imagine how it was:4
4This is how it was.
Anne had a dream that she loved Wayne, and this dream let her realize her true feelings. She was going to visit him in Rome, anyways. They spent the day and night walking around Rome, talking about architecture -- the pantheon and the largo argo, etc. Pilasters are extremely important in Roman architectural building programs. They wind up at the Trevi fountian. She pauses... then tells Wayne what she needs to tell him.He smiles, and says the second coolest thing ever -- "After a pause like that, if you'd said something about pilasters, I would have thrown you in the fountain."
Cupid loads up, they finally kiss... and then Wayne, the romantic, says something (the coolest thing ever) which will maintan the stability of their relationship: "the goatee stays."
"Ah, what a beautiful world we live in," I thought to myself as I did a jig around my room.
But one thing still nagged me: why all the secrecy? Foolishly, I ignored this doubt, and decided to disseminate the truth among campus. "The Truth is out there, and the coverup has gone too far! The public has a need to know!"
So I e-mailed everyone at Swat a cryptic invitation,
Rumors are going around about Wayne. We did some detective work -- compared e-mails, called Wellesly college, checked out youth hostel ledgers, matched prints on handcuffs -- and whoa, do we have a story to tell you.And I posted my clues in front of my door, ending with,Join me for a glass of port or mug of coffee, and let us celebrate!
Tonight, 11:00, my room (ML 4316).
The world came to my room, and it got wicked trashed. I enabled Alastair to not write a paper (sorry!). We drank to Wayne and Anne's health, many times. This was a Monday night.
But then the consequences of my actions came back to haunt me. Anne wrote me,
have you heard from wayne in the past week or so? hee hee. lemme know if so...
I hastily replied,
Y'all think you're so sneaky. But you're not. I love you two anyways.And she, in turn, replied
What???!!!ok, wayne told me he was going to tell you, but it was going to be a surprise for the two who are showing up and hte one who's already here...
if you can explain what I'm talking about, I'll be amazed.
and then I'll kill you if you've told the travelers.
I broke out in a sweat. People in high places -- Ok, not that high, but people who scare me a great deal -- were depending on this information not being known. It came to my attention that I and my sources were safe only as long as it was thought that I didn't know, or ONLY I KNEW. I started a massive coverup.
You, madame, give yourself away. My vague suspicians are now confirmed. I write a properly ambiguous e-mail, and you take the bait and tell me that all my suspicians are accurate. Heh-heh. I am evil. But I'm happy for you guys.
This way, I explained my knowledge and covered the fact that others had been told. She forced me to not tell anyone else; I quickly agreed, since everyone else already knew.
And with this careful lie, I saved my sorry hide. :)
Later that week, I sent two agents to Italy to both confirm these reports and neautralize any damages. They were sucessful, and there my tale ends.