The Greatest Trick The Devil Ever Pulled

"Hand me the keys, you fucking cocksucker."

On Tuesday nights in the summer of 1996, my campmates and I crowded into the Upper State Lodge for what the staff had fondly referred to as "Movie Mixer Night." This was a weekly activity that was intriguing because it was one of the few co-ed activities and because it took place at night, which meant that it was a lot easier to disappear into the woods than it would have been at any other time during the day.

The twenty something counselors liked to pretend that these screenings were only for our benefit, but it was no coincidence that the same women who spent the day chasing us through the Berkshires with their bulky sweatshirts and minus any makeup suddenly showed up in knock off Alicia Silverstone ensembles. On most nights, when they thought we were asleep in our bunks, I overheard them discussing what bases they had rounded with their male counterparts behind the baseball dugouts.

It was on this particular Tuesday in July that we had been told we were going to watch Apollo 13. You could never go wrong with Tom Hanks and after all, some of us had still not seen the picture since it came out the summer before. The lights went down and I saw Rob Sisterini, a 14 year old kid from South Orange, New Jersey, put a VHS tape into the VCR and then giggle to himself before taking a seat on one of the benches.

On screen, there was a boat and gasoline--and a shooting that I certainly didn't remember from the first time around. Gabriel Byrne? He wasn't in this movie. Then there was something about it being 12:30 and then the lineup. Of course, the lineup.

"Number one, step forward."

"Hand me the keys, you fucking cocksucker."

"Number two, step forward."

"Give me the fucking keys, you fucking cocksucker, motherfuckaaaaaa--"

"Knock it off---"

And like that, the room went from acute silence to unprecedented laughter. Rob Sisterini had never done anything exciting in his life. Not once. But this was intentionally ignorant to every ethical thing they had taught us at that camp, including but not limited to the insistence upon nothing further than PG-13 when it came to movies. This was premeditated--it was defiant and rebellious and more importantly--nothing short of brilliant. Rob had smuggled in a copy of The Usual Suspects. He had his older brother rent it at Blockbuster and instead of returning it after the allotted time, he just mailed it to Rob. When Rob heard the night's selection, he seized his opportunity.

There was no movie magic that night. Boys and girls and young men and women went there separate ways, forced to segregate for the remainder of the evening by the headmaster of the camp. And sure, that defeated the purpose of a movie mixer, if you consider the purpose a hand job and a box of Mike and Ikes. You might even say he ruined the evening for everyone.

You might.

But in all honesty, it was one of those pranks that, as the boys would so fondly say, "superseded pussy." They thought they were so grown up. So did we, I guess.

And Rob just sat in the dining hall, with a stack of ChocoTacos, waiting for his sentence.