Automagic Bowinator
On a busy monday afternoon, in the heat of the day, Greg bounded down the walkway on 24th street. Half past two and nothing to do - he was running around exploring campus. He tore across the street, in front of a car, toward Welch, the old behemoth. Passing the trees, he came to the door and ran in.
Up at the top of the stairs, something caught his eye. It was a valve - like all the valves and pipes that were in plain view around campus - but it was
rainbow-colored!
What would you do?
Greg went right over, without even thinking, and gave the knob a full turn. He waited a moment; nothing happened. Then he heard an incomprehensibly loud noise.
He looked around, remaining as motionless as possible. No one had seen him, probably. Still in shock, he turned around and ran down the stairs, and back outside, only to be more surprised. With the sun still shining brightly, it was absolutely pouring, everywhere in sight. He was drenched in seconds, but he didn't run back inside - because he was mesmerized by eight magnificent rainbows that now ruled the sky. Everyone had stopped going wherever they were going, and stood in awe.
Greg looked around. Would it stop? He went back in the building. The pipes were shuddering visibly - dangerously! He stepped up into the sharp sprays of water coming out of the joints in the pipe, and grapsed the rainbow knob. He struggled with it - but the knob wouldn't turn. Water was obviously coming through at an incredible speed - the valve was stuck open for good.
Whoops.
Reason
(this is not a true story)On that day in class, I think our professor was giving us this problem: "So we have
k people on an elevator. If there are
n floors in the building, and it is completely random who gets off at what floor, what is the expected number of stops the elevator has to make?" Logic problems are so strange, when you think about it. Who comes up with such ideas? I can't imagine.
"So what should
x sub
i be?" He asked. Everyone was always slow to think about it and respond, except a few guys at the top: "the floor that person
i gets off at."
"No - that's actually the wrong way to go about-" Suddenly the guy sitting next to me started crying! I didn't really know him - his name was Michael, I think. I just sat there for a moment, frozen - I didn't know what to do. Gosh, what was he going through? I hadn't heard someone cry like that in years - it was hard to imagine and hard to listen to, but he just wouldn't stop. It got worse. He was crying violently, uncontrolably - people never cry when they have seizures, do they?
He was pounding is fist on the table, with his face buried in his other arm. I couldn't bear it anymore. Without knowing what to think of it, I reached out and put my arm around him, and tried to console him. "It's okay man - it'll be all right." By now the whole class was just dead silent. I patted his back and continued to ask him what was wrong. It was a strange experience for me - if this compassion had been inside of me all along, I had not known. Did I just want him to stop, because it was uncomfortable? "It's okay, it's okay..." and he just kept crying, with no end in sight. I turned and looked at the professor, wondering what to do; he kind of motioned for us to go outside, so I got Michael up out of his seat, and, still with my arm around him, walked him out the door. Where even more people could see him, I guess.
I looked at him intently. "Why are you crying?" I pleaded. Is anyone so suddenly just not able to take it anymore? Maybe it was none of my business, but I was desperate to know. With effort, he looked up, and sobbed, "I don't know!" I frowned; his answer only made me more troubled. "I just don't know." I rubbed his shoulders; I wished I could do something to help him.
Michael was so upset that I worried he wasn't going to make it. But he did; the next day, he was back in class, and seemed to be holding out. I was of course attentive to him when I came in; I asked him how he was doing, tried to inquire further. But since the previous day, I have always had trouble getting close to him; he has been friendly, and I know he appreciated my concern for him that day, but it seems I can only scratch the surface of his character. I question over and over again why I had that experience. It makes me wonder intently about my own life, and my friends' lives; it was a very strange thing, and I will never forget it. Maybe someday I will understand.
An Act of Unspeakable Violence
Lucy came running up the stairs, screaming, crying her eyes out. She was tragically upset.
What had she seen?
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"Hey, don't give the rhino such a huge butt!" Calvin joked. The girls giggled. "It's making me uncomfortable."
"Yeah, well maybe if your ostrich wasn't
staring at it, I wouldn't be so inclined..." Kathy retorted. Gray paint dripped from her brush onto the ground beside Calvin, while he brought gooey ostrich feet to life. Michaela turned up the 80's music on the radio. "Gosh, turn it down, Michaela! I'll get the urge to dance and fall of the ladder!" Kathy said. Michaela just kept dancing and making squiggly brush strokes.
Over the edge of the stairwell, Kathy could see people looking curiously to see what on Earth was going on down there. What a weird place to paint a mural, after all! It was a stairwell down to a basement office. People probably passed by every day without even noticing it was there. Kathy hoped their work wouldn't go unappreciated. But at least it was fun for them.
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Alaina lifted the tarp up over the edge, with a flourish.
"Whoa..." The group stood almost speechless, admiring her work: a large stately white swan, the centerpiece. Alaina was just simply a master. There seemed to be something deep within the swan's darkly lined eyes - some secret wisdom. They could hardly separate their eyes from it.
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I listened to Lucy. She was still wailing, mortified, as she clung to her mother. It was very hard to watch...but for a moment I couldn't move or look away. "Mom, they killed my animals!"
I went down the stairwell, and I was horrified.
The walls were raped by hordes or red paint. Blood...blood on everything...on the beaver, the ostrich's legs, the hippopotamus, the monkeys, lying in pain, their bones broken...everything meticulously and torturously reworked, excruciated. The animals were twisted in strange and sickening positions. Blood lined every feather of the swan, encircled its eye, giving it a desperate, maddening gaze. It looked as though it had snapped under agony into horrified disbelief, unable to even face this reality anymore.
I walked up the stairwell...I turned around, walked up...I took steps...I left, that place...I returned, to the world...I, I looked back at Lucy, I just stared...back up the stairwell...into the light...over to Lucy and her mother...
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Jim turned around just in time to see a huge pink blob of incoming paint impact his blue shirt. He started laughing in slow realization, and looked up at Lucy, laughing harder. He flicked little dots of bright green back at her, forming streaks upon her face. "Hey!" she lunged at him with her brush, almost knocking into the wet paint on the wall. Her nascent flamingo watched in amusement. It wanted to clean the little bits of green off itself, but unfortunately, it was a static creature, given the opportunity to view a tiny but heartwarming piece of the world.
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What many days of hard work produces, one night of evil destroys.
Paint anyway.
