Jerry Thomas
Well-Known Member
[Authors note:] Some of you may remember the X-Files television series that ran for nine seasons from 1993 until 2002. After watching non-stop reruns on DVD for the past two weeks, I was inspired to write my own version of an episode I would like to see.
The Fat Files: the Institute
by Jerry Thomas
The building was one of those mysterious unidentified facilities that one sees scattered throughout the Washington metropolitan area. Four stories high, it was built during the wartime boom of the 1940s, and the original red brick was now painted over in white in a half-hearted attempt at renovation. It was surrounded by suburban greenery and a few flower beds, in the well-tended but depressing style of a U.S. military base. White curtains hung limply in the double-hung windows, already appearing exhausted by the citys summer humidity.
I managed to find the residential neighborhood where it was located in Arlington, just across the river from the District of Columbia. Geographically speaking, it was defined by its proximity to a triangle formed by Fort Myer, the Pentagon, and the Navy Annex. You could see the Potomac River and the Capitol if you looked out the top floor windows towards the east. The building looked as if it could have been a hospital, which indeed it once was, many years ago. A psychiatric hospital, as I discovered later. The very first time I saw it, I thought this has U.S. Government written all over it, although there was no outward indication of who exactly owned and operated the facility.
When I arrived for my interview that June morning, the only identification I found was a discrete brass plate mounted next to the entrance. Office of Scientific Research and Development, Metabolic Research Institute, it said. Later on, much later, when it was already too late, I would learn that the employees and residents of the building referred to it simply as The Institute.
But that morning I didnt have a clear idea of the nature and purpose of the establishment I was about to enter. My experience as a former government employee told me there had to be some federal connection, but of course I hadnt a clue what it could be. Maybe they received some of their funding from the National Institutes of Health, located just a few miles upriver in Maryland. Or from the Department of Defense, given its location almost within a stones throw of the heart of the nations military establishment. But at that point I didnt really care. I was merely showing up in response to an advertisement placed in the Washington Times a few days ago.
Make Money Fast Volunteers Needed for Medical Research! The heading of the little ad at the bottom of the page caught my eye. Mainly the part about the money. They, whoever they might be, were willing to pay twenty-five dollars an hour for easy work a substantial amount of money from my point of view. I wondered if this was a scam, or if it involved giving blood plasma at some shady for-profit organization whose sanitary conditions were less than optimal. But considering the fact that my current income was in the single digits, that single digit being zero, I decided to take a chance and call. I had already been out of work for four months, the rent was due by the 5th, and my small savings account was dwindling rapidly.
The number I called had a 703 area code, which meant it was located somewhere in northern Virginia. A woman with a pleasant voice answered the phone. She didnt mention the name of the organization, but merely said, Good morning. This is Mary. How may I help you? I thought I had reached an outside answering service. That was usually not a good sign.
Uh, hello, Im calling about the ad in yesterdays paper. The one asking for volunteers for some kind of research project.
Yes, of course. Weve had quite a few calls already.
Is it really true that youre paying 25 bucks an hour? I mean, this isnt just a scam, is it?
No, not at all. Its entirely legit, she replied patiently, as if it wasnt the first time anyone had asked her that question. We are part of a much larger, well-known organization.
And that organization would be . . .?
Im not authorized to tell you that at the moment. But may I ask you a few questions first?
I was suspicious of her evasiveness, but she had a sexy voice and I imagined her as being young and pretty, so I played along with her little game. Sure, go ahead. Shoot.
She proceeded to ask me a few general questions about my age, health, marital status, citizenship, and if I had ever been convicted of a felony or used controlled substances. The questions seemed harmless enough and I replied to each one in turn. It wasnt like she was asking me to take a polygraph test or strip for a body cavity search. Finally she asked for my legal name and Social Security number and whether I lived within the Washington area.
I live right here in Northwest, near Rock Creek Park. The name on my birth certificate is Wolf Mulder, but most people just call me Mulder.
She laughed. So your first name is Wolf. How did you get an interesting name like that?
Thats what happens when your parents were 1960s hippies high on LSD. My older brother is named Fox. Fox Mulder. Fox and Wolf, get it? Hes a special agent at FBI Headquarters. Works on some kind of spooky top secret project that he cant talk about.
Do you have any other siblings? she asked.
We also had a sister Samantha. But something happened to her, something weird. She disappeared without a trace. We never found out exactly what happened. Fox thinks she was abducted by aliens. Whats he been smoking, eh?
And now, Wolf, I mean Mulder, tell me your height and how much you weigh.
I hesitated on that one. I had gained quite a bit of lard sitting on my butt for the past five years as a statistician with the Department of Agriculture. That was before they abruptly canned me. Is that really necessary? I asked.
Im afraid it is. In fact, due to the nature of our research, its probably the most important question of all.
I took a deep breath, thinking that my weight might disqualify me from further consideration. Well, you see, Ive gained some weight lately, but Im five foot seven and I currently weigh about 260 pounds.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and I was thinking, Okay, Mulder, thats it. Youre too fat. Youre out of the running now, tubby.
Instead she surprised me by exclaiming happily, 260 pounds, you say? Hmm, at a height of 5-7, that would give you a Body Mass Index of I heard a calculator clicking in the background a BMI of 40.7. Yes, thats excellent! Youre well within the obese range, exactly what were looking for. Are you available this Thursday at 10 a.m.? Would you be able to report to our facility at that time?
She gave me the street address and I told her I would be there. But what kind of research is this? She had never explained that part of it.
We can discuss those details once you are here. Please allow at least two hours for your assessment. Ask for Dr. Scully when you arrive at the front desk.
I wanted to ask who Dr. Scully was, but by that time she had already hung up. The whole thing seemed a tad weird and I was beginning to feel a queasiness in the pit of my stomach. What if this was a front operation for the CIA? Area 51? Roswell? I had just read a magazine article about a program conducted after the war where the government had intentionally injected prison convicts with malaria in order to develop a vaccine. And why was my weight such an important factor? Of course, I could still change my mind if I didnt like the way it smelled. And anyway, how bad could it be? Whatever it was, the money would certainly help me out of my current hopeless financial situation.
