Chuck Bamata: The true story

In 1981 Chuck Bamata applied for a job for which he would have to take a polygraph test. The primary reason for the test was to weed out thieves and drug addicts. Chuck wasn't worried about being labeled a thief, because even though he and his friends had shop-lifted a couple Hostess cupcakes from a neighborhood corner store, he had never stolen a lot or anything that could be considered valued at more than thirty or forty cents. Stealing was something that Chuck never got any satisfaction from, and even those cupcakes had left a bad taste in his mouth. If he couldn't earn it legitimately he didn't want it.

However, he had smoked plenty of reefer and had taken some acid in his life. But Chuck needed the job and didn't feel that the joints he had smoked should disqualify him from making an honest living, so he decided to try and beat the test. At the time, his friend Chewey was staying with him, and even better, Chewey of all people had beaten the same test.

Follow up:

"Man how'd you do it?"

"It's simple." Chewey stroked his beard. "The test is reading your reactions. The guy will start the test asking you questions that are supposed to be a sure thing that you are telling the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Like they'll ask you your name, address, and age. Bullshit like that." Chewey was now combing his long, frizzy, hair with his fingers. "When they ask you that crap, they read the truth, and they look for any reaction different from that, when they ask you the rest of the questions."

Chuck got it, but what he didn't get was how you beat it? He knew they were measuring the breathing rate and pulse, and he had also heard they were able to measure blood pressure and even see if you started sweating.

"So how do you beat it?"

Chuck arrived at the testing center at 2 p.m. and could feel his nerves in a hyper-active state. He thought about what Chewey had told him, and was determined to do it. He had nothing to lose but rent money and food on the table.

The receptionist at the testing center lead him into an empty dark room with two chairs, and a rolling cart that supported a machine with a Medusa tangle of wires emanating from its side, lit by a single desk lamp. A guy that looked like Sergeant Friday, stood, introduced himself and shook Chuck's hand. The machine was at Friday's right, and between him and Chuck's chair was a small table with another small lamp fastened to it holding some sort of printer with a continuous paper feed that formed a steady white cascade of endless paper. The receptionist invited Chuck to sit, and began attaching sensors to him. First she wrapped a sensor around his chest, making sure it was snug.

"That's not too tight is it?" She asked.

"No, that's alright."

Then she attached electrodes to his finger tips while Friday looked on, and Chuck felt his eyes, as if they were ants crawling all over his body. Though Friday tried to look friendly enough, his eyes seemed to pierce right through Chuck.

When all was set, the test began. Sergeant Friday hunched over his printer paper, which started feeding at an ever so slow pace. Chuck could see a needle which danced back and forth, reacting either lazily or furiously whenever he responded to a question from Friday. Chuck tried not to watch, and began concentrating as soon as the electrodes were attached.

At that point in his life, Chuck had practiced meditation for several years, and was able to center his concentration on a singular mantra fairly well, without allowing his mind to wander. And when it did, he would quickly harness it and redirect it to whatever mantra he was repeating over and over again in his mind. He knew that on that day, he would have to meditate better than he ever had before. At least the mantra Chewey had given him was one he truly believed in, and as long as he could repeat it in his mind just before and after each question, there was no way he could fool himself into believing it was a lie. He knew he couldn't close his eyes, so he focused on the Edwardian knot of Friday's paisley neck-tie, and began a simple two word mantra in his head.

As soon as he was hooked up, he started. F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

"Okay Mr. Bamata, we’ll now begin. Please relax, and answer the questions to the best of your ability."

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Okay" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

"Please state your name."

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Charles Bamata" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

"How old are you?"

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Thirty years old" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“What is your marital status Mr. Bamata?

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Single" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Now relax Mr. Bamata, you seem awfully tense.”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "I guess I’m a little nervous. I never did this before" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“I understand, but there’s really nothing to be nervous about.”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Alright, let’s see if we can’t continue.”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Have you ever stolen anything from an employer?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "No" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Not even a pen or paper clips?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "No" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Come on Mr. Bamata, everyone has taken something from work, are you sure?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Positive, nothing" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Have you ever stolen anything from anyone?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "No" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

Sergeant Friday was making marks on the printout as Chuck answered the questions. He paused for a moment, excused himself, and left the room.

Chuck didn’t stop. F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

About two minutes later, Friday came back in, he sat down and looked over the last few minutes of read-out, and Chuck thought he heard a soft sigh.

“Okay Mr. Bamata, we have just a few more questions, and we’ll be done here.”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Okay" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Have you ever taken any kind of illegal drugs?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "No" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Have you ever drunk any alcohol?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Yes" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

“Have you ever drunk on the job?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "No" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

Chuck thought he heard a soft sigh from Sergeant Friday. “What is your name?”

F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you "Charles Bamata" F#%K you, F#%K you, F#%K you

Sergeant Friday pushed a button. “Miss Harwood, I’m finished with Mr. Bamata.”

The receptionist reappeared, and began disconnecting all the electrodes in reverse order. While she did so, Sergeant Friday gave Chuck the results.

“Well Mr. Bamata, you’ve passed the test, although your nervousness throughout the test nearly disqualified the results. I’ll send the results to your prospective employer today, and they’ll probably contact you within the next day or so.

“Great. Thanks.” Chuck got up and straightened out his shirt.

“Oh, and Mr. Bamata?”

“Yes sir?”

“If you ever take a polygraph test again, just try to relax more, and it will go a lot easier.”

“Yes sir I’ll do that.” Chuck was now using all his concentration to keep from laughing and jumping up and down in ecstasy. When he got back into his car, he could hold back no more, “Yes! Yes!” He cried out and pounded the steering wheel in joy. When he got back home, he and Chewey celebrated with an ice cold beer, and a big fatty.