The Universe watches
Somewhere in the Mutara nebula…
An entity that was/is/will be known as Wuleghu phased into what humans might call existence across the infinite reaches of the space time continuum.
Simultaneously, everywhere else, an incorporeal form comprised of pure energy and consciousness was doing exactly the same thing. This being was known by the name of Otomib.
Each was aware of the other. It was the now of The Meeting of the Universe. Although they existed across all space and time, for the purpose of limited understanding by primitive human brains, you can describe The Meeting as taking place in a construct known as a Control Room, if it brings you comfort to think of it so. A plaque on the door read, “Universe Control Room #2.”
Over a trillion Earth years ago, Wuleghu had created a mote of energy in preparation for the moment. That energy manifested itself in the form of an opening to a conversation.
“Good morning, Otomib.”
The construct of an Earth day is used here to help with understanding.
The Meeting had begun.
“How are you?” asked Wuleghu.
“Meh. I’ve been better.”
Wuleghu shrugged and somewhere by his big toe a black hole was created.
“We better get started,” it said. “Is The Report ready?”
Otomib nodded, causing a star to go supernova and spiral into Wuleghu’s black hole, and handed over The Report.
“Let’s get this business over with,” Wuleghu said as he began to read from The Report.
GALAXY: Milky Way
LOCATION: Third Orbital named “Earth”
GEOGRAPHY: Northern hemisphere, continent named “North America”
Wuleghu grunted in disgust. “Earth? Really?”
“It happens sometimes,” said Otomib, cleverly and knowingly employing a variation on a shit joke.
Wuleghu continued to read.
LIFE FORM DESIGNATION: Tom B. Taker
“Good God,” said Wuleghu. “What have we done to deserve this?”
“It comes with the job. It’s best to get this done then we can move on to something else.”
“Well, I’m skipping ahead to the summary.”
Subject is mostly harmless. Has been employed all of his life since age 16. Obeys the law. Arrests: 1. Convictions: 0. Does not dissemble on taxes. Ethical, moral, and tries to live by the Golden Rule. Does not cause pain.
Universe gifts bestowed: None.
Status: Low income, no access to health care, various ailments including destroyed spine, stabbing pain in heart, and psychosomatic vision problems. Null values in power, influence, and desirability schema.
Energy condition: Nominal but failing. Termination eminent.
Wuleghu tossed The Report aside. “That’s enough, dammit. I’m ready. You?”
“We now render The Recommendation.”
“Let’s do it.”
A knowing look was exchanged. They both nodded. An understanding was shared and grokked. Otomib took the report and, using a rubber stamp, embossed upon The Decision of The Meeting.
Freshly adorned with the text – MAINTAIN/NO CHANGE – Otomib shoved The Report down The Slot where it would wait for eternity to never be reviewed again.
Bonus image: Wanna feel small?
Shouts to the Alien Names generator for the proper names of the protagonists used in this post.
A letter to the boss
I’m smarter than you.
Oh, please. Don’t look so amazed. It’s not really that surprising, is it?
Eh? What’s that? You make more money than me? That’s the best argument you’ve got? Sure you do. I’m painfully aware of that. You rub it in my face all the time. Think I’d forget?
One thing I’ve learned during my time on this planet, though, is that one doesn’t have anything to do with the other. Money does not equate to intelligence. For the record, it doesn’t equate to worthiness, either, nor is it a reliable method of determining who gets access to healthcare. But I digress.
I’ve learned that there are other qualities vastly more important than intelligence when it comes to making money. Things like greed, ambition, flexible ethics, questionable morals, and more. You know, the qualities that you possess in abundance.
Maybe an example of something that actually happened will help get through to you.
Remember the time you jammed the punch machine? For an entire year you used it to punch holes in plastic. Did you ever empty it, even a single time? Nope. Those little pieces of punched plastic had to go somewhere, right? Surely even you can see that. Where do you think they went? Think, dammit!
Finally the thing stopped working and you were utterly befuddled. So you brought it to us employees to fix, stressing the importance and that it needed to be done quickly. As usual, your failure to plan became our “emergency,” a term you frequently bandy about rather wantonly in my humble opinion.
Remember what I’m talking about? I think your words when you handed it over were, “No worky.”
At first we were perplexed by the problem, too. It just didn’t make any sense. There was seemingly no reasonable explanation. Finally, out of desperation, we forced the machine open, damaging the mechanism in the process. You remember that, don’t you? You stood there making comments about how the expense would be deducted from our paychecks.
Once we had the thing taken apart, it all suddenly became crystal clear. You had jammed it so good it physically couldn’t punch any more. The only delay in our troubleshooting was that we underestimated how stupid you could be. That’s not a mistake we’re likely to repeat.
Yeah, I get the irony. It’s fucking rich. No, not that kind of rich, you friggin’ singleminded simpleton. Sometimes those with more intelligence end up working for those with less. Even though that seems illogical and topsy turvy.
I’m sorry if this letter hurts your feelings. Don’t worry about it, though. Soon it will get better. You’ll remember there is a thing called “money” and your thoughts will return to “how do I get more of it?” And then this will be all forgotten. You’ll remember that there are rules to be broken, lies to be told and customers to screw over. Then you’ll be back to being yourself.
It will be a happy time.