Long ago and far away in a kingdom by the sea, I played hooky from my job slinging hash at Bryant Park Grill and went to see the movie Conspiracy Theory, an action thriller starring Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts. The movie was ok, sort of your typical late nineties movie, lots of quips, exciting chases, turn arounds, betrayals, and so on. I really remember it for what happened after the film was over. It was one of those humid, hot, early summer days in NYC. I had gone to the flick with my buddy Myles over at the Paris movie theater, which is near 59th Street and Fifth. At the time, I lived on the Upper East Side, and took the 6 train home. As I got on train, I noticed a seat in the middle of the subway car. I made my way there and took a seat. Before the car moved, another man got on the train. He was in a nice green business suit, and looked like he had a good bit of money by his clothes, watch, and so on. He also looked strung out, high, or otherwise altered by his expression, glazed over eyes, and bits of drool hanging off his lips. He ambled towards the empty space to my right, and as he turned to sit next to me, I noticed that the back of his green pants had a large, wet, brown stain. Like he had pooped his pants. As he sat, I shot up, and made my way to the door, hoping to find a seat in the next car. But the door between cars was locked, which happens sometimes in the NYC subway system. By then, the train had left the station, so I couldnn't leave. Nobody could. I looked back to where he was sitting. Everyone near him had their hands over their noses. It was clear why. The unmistakable stench of human waste wafted its way through the car. More and more people tried to open the door between cars, but to no avail. And worse still, the car was moving ultra slow, another feature of the mighty underground transport system of Gotham. I looked his way again, and everyone was standing, moving quickly away from him. This was because he was in the midst of becoming a human poop fountain. It was flowing over the back of his pants, spilling onto the seats, spreading out in both directions. The car was in panic mode, but there was nothing to be done. And the dude just sat there, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the situation. Finally, after an eternity, we made it to the next station. Before the doors opened, he stood, and walked towards my side of the car. We all froze, terrified. As he strode, little brown poop prints followed him. He ambled to the doors, and when they opened, off he went, to a destiny I shall never know of. Carefully avoiding the poop prints, we all headed out of the car, and ran for it. After the initial shock and horror, I began to laugh. It was that moment, I thought, when I knew I was a true New Yorker.
And that is basically what I think of all the conspiracy theorists out there today, the people who tell you it's all George Soros' doing. Or China's. Or some secret government facility. You've heard some variation on one of these, I'm sure. To me, those folks are all out of their minds, full of shit, and forcing their fellow citizens to smell their fetid refuse.
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