“You just lied,” someone from the Pre-Law club says.

“Damn it, how does it know?” I reply in confusion.

This was at the lie detector event inside the lobby of Founder’s Hall—and I was surprised by the results.

I walk in only 30 minutes before the event is over, and I’m met with silence. No one was milling about or screaming that it was their turn to test their luck. No arguing between unfaithful couples or disloyal friends. I was met with utter silence.

I casually walk to the table in my tank top and skirt, ready to put this machine to the test. One of the members on the other side of the table, which is covered in a pink and sparkly sheet, tells me to sit down.

I do as she says and put my hand on this tiny, cheap machine that she says is from Amazon.

The machine is white and has grooves for your fingers to lie when putting your palm down on it. Each groove has an innocently small piece of metal to track your pulse. What I was unaware of was that this not-so-innocent piece of metal was also the indicator of a lie; it either vibrated or shocked you when you fibbed.

She asks me if I’m ready to begin. I reply with “maybe, ” an uneasy smile on my lips.

She begins asking questions: easy, surface-level questions. 

I answer with the truth.

The round is over, the lie detector not making a sound or flashing a light.

Curious, I ask if I can try again. What she doesn’t know is that I am about to lie about every question. I need to see whether this machine actually works or is just a cheap, flimsy little game for people to play with.

“Do you like the food in the dining hall?” she asks.

“Yes,” I lie.

The funny thing was, the detector didn’t detect anything. There was, once again, no sound, flash of light or anything at all. In the split-second between questions, I decided I could easily fool this little thing.

She asks another question, “Do you like the food at the Grill?”

“Yes,” I lie again.

Still nothing.

She asks one last question, “Have you ever cheated on a test?”

My heart skips a beat. I am about to admit that I’m a bad student to this stranger. 

“No. I can lie, and she won’t know,” I thought to myself. 

Quickly, I respond. “No,” I lie.

At this moment, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen to me. I thought I would lie like I had been doing and that I would get away with it.

Wrong. I was so wrong.

Out of nowhere, the machine vibrates and flashes a red light. 

“You just lied,” a girl from the Pre-Law club says.

“Damn it, how does it know?” I reply in confusion.

So here I am, sitting in this chair of doom, admitting to strangers that I’m a bad student.

As if hearing my thoughts, another student from behind the table says they, too, have cheated. What a relief!