Not that I have done anything really wrong. Well, REALLY wrong. You don't know what kind of a horrible person you are until you have to really think about it and then spill it all for a stranger. Then you are surprised with yourself that you haven't done hard time before.
I went into the building expecting the worst. Surprisingly enough, it was worse than that. I was coming down with a cold (and then pink eye!) but I hadn't slept well that night. This is not surprising. I spent over a decade making sure I could stay up all night. When I have to be somewhere before noon, my body makes sure it is NOT TIRED AT ALL. But, I knew it was my only chance and I wouldn't sleep any better if we rescheduled. In I went.
|This has nothing to do with anything. Isn't it pretty?|
In detail. With examples. And you spill. EVERY. LITTLE. THING. All those things you wanted to keep secret? You don't. All those things you are embarrassed about? You tell. All those things you didn't realize were actually crimes? You admit to doing all the time. You talk and talk and talk. AND TALK.
This part was 6 hours. Every time I answered a question, he would ask "What else?" which made me think he knew something that I didn't, so I would rack my brain trying to think of something else I had done. Usually he moved us on, realizing that despite some of my escapades, I am essentially boring. But I told everything. EVERYTHING. And you know? It wasn't that hard.
The guy was very likeable though intense. He admitted to hearing so many confessions as part of his job that nothing surprised him or embarrassed him. He also admitted he would not likely remember anything I said for very long, so should we meet in the hallway I don't have to duck behind a potted plant. This I took as a good sign.
|These leaves represent every thing I told.|
Other than what I had admitted to [in this area] did I do anything else?
That and a handful of test questions repeated over and over and over again. By this time, I was tired. Hungry. Annoyed. Exhausted. And honestly? BORED. I have never had to talk about myself that long before. Honestly, I love to talk about myself. Just ask me!! But I felt like, if I had to answer another damn question again, I would go mental. But I did it. And the longer I did it, the more paranoid I became that I was forgetting something or that it would read my nervousness and boredom and exhaustion.
Half an hour later, he asks if I neglected to tell him something. Nope. Not at all. Was I thinking about anything during the questions on [insert topic]? NO!!! Of course not! I mean, had it been about homicide, I might have wondered if thinking actually DID count for something, but that? No.
Well, I "blipped" on one part. The one part I know I had nothing more to share. The one part I know I had nothing to admit to. And that was the one I blipped on. We left it there, him telling me he would send my results to HR. That was it.
I left the room and was escorted to finger printing. The wonderful man who took my prints (and also was like the Jolly Giant) asked if I was okay. I said I wasn't really sure. He let me in on a secret - most the women burst into tears as soon as the polygraphist left the room. I admitted, I was waiting for when I got to my car. I was a nervous wreck, but it was that gentle, HUGE man who made me centre again. I owe him a drink for that.
So, I haven't heard anything yet. I expect I will eventually. Unless they have decided I'm a hardened criminal. And then, I might hear the slamming of metal doors.