I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a secret cult at BCIT
EDITOR’S NOTE: We at The Link want to remind our readers that the following views do not reflect the views of the paper, any major religion, or good journalism. They are the opinions of a man who, because of the Internet, is legally able to call himself a reverend. Enjoy.
Due to the plethora of letters that have flooded both my Facebook and email, compounded by the number of tweets I have received regarding the following topic, I have been forced to address this issue in writing.
First, I want to say that as the Reverend of Journalism — preaching integrity and truth — I usually regard such claims as ridiculous and attribute those opinions to the gossip rags of the local tabloid. However, the sheer volume of requests for me to investigate this story piqued my interest. Like the old saying goes, where there’s smoke there’s fire… So here’s my adventure out of the frying pan.
I started my investigation at The Rix, a cafe in SE6. I always found it suspicious how there was a “faculty lounge” at the back of the shop. The doors are tinted and often closed. No one ever speaks about what goes on back there.
Just another day behind closed doors at The Rix? —(Anonymously submitted)
Now, as the Reverend of Journalism, I am also a self-proclaimed expert on fringe groups and cults: the first rule of each is secrecy and exclusion. I decided to enter the room. As I was about to open the door, a man walked out. He was a big man. He stopped me in my tracks.
“Are you a faculty member?” he asked.
“I’m a reverend,” I replied. The man stood in my path. He wasn’t about to back down and neither was I.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in there,” he said.
“I’ve got as much right as you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I’m also a journalism student,” I explained.
“Then you are definitely not supposed to be back there.”
What was this man hiding? I had to find out.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because you’re a student and as you can see, this is a staff lounge,” he told me.
“Okay, then can you answer a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What goes on back there?”
“Nothing,” he told me.
“Then why am I not allowed back there?”
“Because we staff need a place of refuge free of students,” he explained.
“Don’t you mean you need a place of refuge to perform the dark arts?”
He looked at me, stunned. I was unable to tell if I had exposed him and his cohorts. This clearly required more investigation.
“Are you and the faculty currently involved in a secret, campus-wide cult?” I demanded.
He stared at me with an ambiguous look. I could see more staff starting to gather around the doorway. It was time for me to leave. I wouldn’t get my answer anytime soon…
Epilogue: I was torn about publishing my findings. On the one hand, is there any hard evidence? No. But I’ve always been told that the devil is in the details and my duty to you, the reader, requires me to present all the facts. We still don’t have any idea what is back there and no faculty member has gone on record denouncing claims of a secret cult
Think about this: faCULTy. It’s in the word. Stay tuned, reader!
EDITOR’S NOTE: We felt it was important to the integrity of the paper to point out that the preceding essay was handed in on three sheets of loose-leaf paper that smelled like they had been marinating in malt liquor for several days.
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