In 1985, while working in a Michigan City named Sterling Heights Michigan as an electronic technician, I was falsely accused of committing a crime. I plead not-guilty, and hired a lawyer and prepared to go to court. At one point, the police requested that I agree to take a polygraph examination. Knowing that I hadn't done anything illegal, I agreed, and went in to take the test.



I was met by an officer who introduced himself to me as Detective Paul Carey, and explained to me that he would be administering the test to me. He began by asking me a few basic questions: did I know what a polygraph machine was? What was my opinion of polygraph tests? Would I agree to answer the questions that he would ask me honestly, etc.? I agreed to do so, and gave him a very frank answer as to what my opinion was as to polygraph examinations: there is no machine in the world that can measure one's veracity; it was junk science. But I would cooperate fully and answer all of his questions fully and truthfully.



He began by explaining that his first few questions would be basic questions that would allow him to calibrate his machine. Common things like "what is your name? Where do you live? Etc. These were all things that he had full knowledge of, as I had filled out a questionnaire when I had arrived.



After a few minutes of "where do you live, is your name... etc.", we began other questions, in tune with the subject.



When we had completed the examination, he asked:



"So, how do you think you did?"



I replied: "Well, I imagine that it'll turn out exactly as you want it to. I told you that when I walked in here. I could take you back to my shop right now and hook you into my oscilloscope and ask you questions. And, you would see the frequency and voltage will change visibly right before your very eyes. But it would be meaningless: you cannot hook up someone to a machine and gauge whether or not he/she is telling the truth."



I could tell immediately that he didn't like what I had said at all.



I imagine that I'd get the same reaction if I had told him that he had just spilled mustard on his shirt.



So I took the initiative and asked him:



"Okay, so tell me, how did I do?"



Carey: "B^^^ (insert my first name here), the entire test shows a pattern of complete and total deception."



Me: "Complete and total deception?"



Carey: "Yes"



When I walked in there, I knew that I'd most likely would never be able to prove it, but the results of my test had already been decided before I'd even taken the test. But he had just proven it for me. So I replied:



Me: "It's complete and total deception, you say. So I guess my name isn't B^^^ ^^^^^^^, and I wasn't born in ^^^^^^^ hospital in the city of ^^^^^^^, and my parents weren't ^^^^^^^ and ^^^^^^^^, eh?



It was as if I had punched him in the gut... he visibly winced... and did so badly.



He started to reply, but the words wouldn't come out. You could almost see the file cards shuffling in his head as he tried to come up with something to counter this sudden attack of common sense and logic that I had unleashed on him.



Finally, he admitted (and I could tell that he didn't like admitting this): "Well, it might just mean that you were nervous. But I don't know why someone would be nervous."



Gee, I thought. You accuse me of a crime I didn't commit, charge me, and pretty much force me into taking a polygraph examination. And you wonder why someone would be nervous? Common sense really isn't common.



When we went to trial, I had proof, and the husband and wife were exposed as the liars that they were. I was found not guilty in something like 10 minutes.



But the polygraph test, and Detective Paul Carey were both something I remember to this day. I wonder how many times he's gotten away with stunt he tried to pull on me?

