Posted September 28, 2008

Let me tell you, I am no stranger to conspiracy theories. Only last month, after catching several baristas at my local Starbucks making my decaf Americano with regular coffee, I loudly proclaimed the possibility that this was more than coincidence.

None of them could hide their presumed guilt behind those smirks, though several tried to deflect my investigation by falling down on the floor with convulsions the store manager officially attributed to laughter.

(Interestingly enough, not a single one of the comedy writers pounding away at their latest scripts was called upon to offer a professional opinion. I find that justification, alone, for my suspicions.)

If I were inclined to cover up a conspiracy, what better way to keep the weakest links from talking than with some sort of convulsion-inducing concoction innocently served up to a thirsty employee? With 87,000 different drink combinations who'd notice a discrete vial of number 87,001? Chances are, it could silently be substituted for number 49,362 with its intended victims being none the wiser.

But since I began talking up my theories, I no longer find these "mistakes" being made. I get a decaf drink every time, merely confirming Fox Mulder's admonition to Dana Skully, that if something happened to him everybody would know he was right.

Or was it Skully who first said it to Mulder?

I suspect we will never know the truth about that, either.

This has freed me up to turn my writer's imagination to who, or what, is behind our ongoing rash of banking problems. Only this week there were reports of yet another seizure, pushing us to the point of wondering whether we should be calling for an economist or a neurosurgeon.

I say neither.

Surely you are aware that there are people among us, my wife included, that will continue writing checks until their current supply is exhausted.

But, I ask you, what better way to remind people of a crashing economy than to pass around checks emblazoned with the name of some failed financial institution? Under such circumstances, getting new checks, it's safe to say, is a patriotic act akin to going shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

In the next few weeks, hundreds of thousands of other depositors will be following in my footsteps (only because I am an early riser and hate waiting on line) and getting new checks.

At a few dollars per depositor, the check printing companies will be making out like bandits, though why we should entrust the cornerstone of American commerce to people who enjoy heavy petting with ski masks over their heads is a national scandal all its own.

Meanwhile, there is no talk at all of a windfall profits tax on the check printing industry, is there? There can be but one reason for this.

With the end of the year approaching, and their profits in need of a boost. somebody called somebody who called somebody else until, somewhere on a dim Washington, D.C. street, a ringing desk drawer was opened to reveal a red telephone.

"It's fourth quarter and the numbers on the scoreboard have us trailing," said a voice.

"But the wind could shift at any moment," said the owner of the red phone.

"Huh?"

"Sorry," said the red phone voice. "I thought you were the Georgian consulate. How about, but the visiting team can stumble?"

"Make it happen," said the first voice, before clicking off.

The next thing we knew, some high-ranking government official was on the television announcing that Bank X has just been traded to Bank Y (or, more properly, Bank Y,Z,A,B and C, NA, member FDIC) for several billion dollars in cash and three tellers to be named later.

How much is this worth to check printers? Just you try and find out. That's because I'd rather they have your computer address in their files than mine.

But if some unnamed person were to use some untraceable computer at some nondescript public library branch this is what some Google search might turn up. So I hear.

Your search - "check printing industry" "annual profits" - did not match any documents.

An unnamed person can use Google to find the number of mosquito nets distributed in central and southern Somalia in the first six months of 2007 (207,817), but not the profits of check printers?

The whole Internet. Erased.

(I'd search Google for "Men in Black," but I'm afraid my computer screen would flash and, frankly, I'm just managing to deal with the memory problems I have now.)

I mentioned my theory to my wife, in an email message sent from a different untraceable computer at a different nondescript public library branch. Kind soul that she is, she urged me not to write about it.

I'm sure she meant to say "I fear for your SAFETY," not "SANITY," but N and F and I and E are easily transposed if one is sufficiently hunched over a keyboard so as to keep others from seeing what's being typed (curvature of the spine being an occupational hazard for conspiracy theorists these days).

On the other hand, perhaps this was just her way of answering in code.

If so, honey, don't worry. The home team may stumble.

©2008 Jay Douglas