DONUTS

     "Do you remember when it all started, when we began to wake up and take back our world?" This was asked by the young historian, writing her dissertation on major changes in social reality.

     Her companion, an old man with a long beard smiled. "Of course I do. I was there. I was a young man then, working in a local coffee shop. These interesting folks came in regularly. The man, an older man with a long beard, much like mine is today, came in with his wife, a much younger woman, and their three young boys. I noticed them because they would always bring in their own donuts. The revolution really started one day, when my curiosity got the better of me and I asked them about the donuts. Let me tell you what happened then:"


     When I asked about the donuts, they answered, "We've been bringing our donuts into your shop for weeks now. We're on a stakeout. Actually, we've been waiting for you to notice us. And we do like these donuts better than the pastries you offer here."

     Somehow I glimpsed that there was more to it than that. "We have some really good pastries here. Why would you choose grocery store donuts over what we have here?"

     They looked at one another then, as if they were deciding whether to level with me. "We're undercover cops. And you know how cops are. We love donuts. It's in the job description."

     I know that wasn't the whole answer. "You two sure don't look like cops. You look like hippies or something. You didn't grow that beard just for a stakeout, did you? And you come in here with those young boys all the time. Are they undercover cops too?"

     They looked at one another again. I could see that they were going to tell me the rest of their story. But when they said, "We're CIA," I was stunned. I didn't expect that at all! "I really doubt that," I said. "You guys don't have that kind of vibe."

     "Well, for us, CIA stands for Citizens into Acid. We're undercover agents, here looking for a few good men and women to help us take the fight back to those frightened people who thought they had stopped us for good, back in the early seventies, back when they declared LSD illegal, just so they wouldn't have to examine themselves and maybe give up their stupid power trips."

     "How do you know whom to trust?" I asked. "Anyone can look like a hippie. Anyone can act enlightened. You folks seem way too open for these days."

     "Well, for starters, we wait for folks to approach us. Then we talk with them, like we're talking with you now. We can tell when someone is being truthful. And, we always have our acid test."

     "Like I read about in the old days?" I exclaimed. "Ken Kesey and his bunch, the Merry Pranksters, I think they were called."

     "Not exactly. We're not into concerts or wild parties with lots of folks losing their minds. That's been done before. That's what went wrong before really. No, we're much more selective."

     Then the old man went on, "I had a friend back in the old days. He dealt a lot of good acid on the streets of Berkeley. I asked him once how come he had never been busted. His answer has stayed with me. He said he would insist that his potential customer dose with him and then play chess with him. That was his acid test. He told me that he could always tell about the person by seeing how they played on acid."

     "We don't play chess with folks, but we have our ways, our acid tests. How about you? Are you ready to go to the next level?"


     "I answered yes, and the rest is history."

     The young historian was silent for a long while. Finally she asked, "Is that why you have a long beard and always eat those horrid donuts?"

     "You got it," the old man exclaimed. "It really does catch the eye, doesn't it? I've already recruited lots of folks myself. How about you? Are you ready for the next level?"

     By Eugene Marks