The Worm Problem
Alone in my room, avoiding work that needed to be done, I watched “The Human Giant,” a sketch comedy show by the comedy group of the same name, feeling the effects of my brain being turned to mush by absurdist humor, I was struck by an amazing incident—Rob Huebel came onto the screen and was wearing the exact outfit I currently had on. The brown pants led up to the exact grey plaid shirt I had on unbuttoned to reveal a forest-green tee shirt. I paused it immediately, and the first thought in my mind was that this was an event dictated by God—obviously. From the first mysterious spark of life this moment was destined. All the mysteries of the Universe were racing through my mind and I sat there in awe.
My next thought was this: “Why in the hell did God go through all this trouble for such an insignificant event?” Could it be mere coincidence? It didn’t seem so to me, but it also had no ramifications whatsoever. And so, I was left with the perhaps tired human question of whether there is order to the Universe, purpose in life, and some strange design amidst all this chaos.
One day after an accident left me without a car, a good friend Charles was giving me a ride home after class, and we chatted on about whatever nonsense had our minds occupied that evening until we somehow stumbled onto the subject of life, the Universe, and everything. Charlie then told me the story of the worm. He had been out on a summer day on his porch having a cigarette when he saw the worm, dangerously out of its natural habitat, squirming along under the sun. A virtuous man, Charles reached for the worm and through him into a nearby bush. Before the worm had a chance to thank him, it was eaten by a toad.
“I don’t see any reason to go out of your way to do anything but the most selfish, self-serving acts. The world is chaotic and any action we take can go in any direction, and there’s no way to tell. That damn worm ruined my whole life.”
I laughed, and said, “You never know.”
“Yeah, maybe that toad went on to big things.”
* * * * *
After the impact I sit in the car and listen to the music that’s still playing. My only thought is “That wasn’t so bad.” It is not an accurate thought. Later, my car will be towed at my expense and declared unsalvageable, and I am a poor man. Before the sound of a crying little girl jolts me into realizing that something has indeed occurred here, I make the decision to just sit in the car and listen to the music. My mind starts to wander over certain recent events and find the precise reason this wreck has happened. Thoughts flash through my mind quickly—the music, Patrick, the girl, Charles’ antics, the cell phone, faulty wiring in my brain—and now it is time to decide where to place the blame.
The night before I had a date with a gorgeous girl. This isn’t something I make a habit of, and it took an awful lot of convincing. We sat outside of a downtown bar and smoked cigarettes and drank beer. She smoked more than me, which I find fantastic because girls are so quick to be grossed out by tobacco. She also talked more than me, which was simply useful, as I tend to lean on whatever bland joke springs into my mind if conversation starts to lag. It was going well, as far as I could tell, and I told her we ought to walk to the Crown Plaza for a drink so that I could “impress her by playing the piano and she’d fall in love with me.” She didn’t want to walk but I persuaded her to.
“Walking is very good for you, for the soul, and it is very romantic.”
* * * * *
I sing along to the music in my car and go over the night before. I can’t help but smile as the sun shines in through the windshield and the air blows through my windows. I wait on oncoming traffic to turn left.
The light turns yellow.
* * * * *
We walked there, I bought a drink, and sat at the piano to play a jazz tune, “You Don’t Know Me,” and she says she doesn’t like jazz. We went out for a cigarette and as we finished our drinks I said, “Do you want to walk back and call it a night?” to which she replied “If you want to.” It’s subtle, but there’s a big implication in that response that she is falling in love—obviously.
Things were all coming together now. I had met a girl at the same time I had started making a little money. It’s funny, I thought, how the Universe tends to work itself out so well. A sort of religion had struck me. There is meaning and order to everything.
When we got back to her car she asked if I wanted a ride back to mine, or if I maybe wanted to do something else. We drove around, I picked up another pack of cigarettes (I was out from trying to keep up with her), and she eventually decided it was too late for her to do anything. She drove me back to my car, and said she wanted to go out again, so I said I’d call her.
Given that this type of thing rarely occurs in my life, I was left in a somewhat uncharacteristic enthusiastic mood, and drove to join my friends at another bar. I called Patrick and Charles answered, and told me where they were. We played pool and I told them stories from the night.
After Patrick left, Charles and I sat at the bar laughing over a few beers. We texted a girl from Patrick’s phone: “What is love, baby? Don’t hurt me.” This was the most hilarious thing in the world to us. My mood only got better with the beers Charlie and I drank, and when the lights came up in the bar Charlie bought a small bottle of gin and some grapefruit juice.
* * * * *
I head to Patrick’s house to give him his phone back. As I approach Cervantes I decide it will be faster to make a left here and then head onto Palafox instead of taking the residential roads straight to his house. I start to sing along to the music in my car.
* * * * *
We headed back to Charles’ house where we had a drink and ate some microwavable chicken pot pies. The Universe would work itself out and so I let myself go.
In the morning I was woken up by Charlie’s family scurrying around and getting ready for church. I pretended to be asleep to avoid any awkward conversations. They left, finally, and I got up and gathered my belongings.
Charlie and I hung around a while, and he made me a bowl of chicken soup to “put some pep in my step.” While I ate it his parents came home, and I chatted with them for a while. Charlie came out to my car for a cigarette before I left. I told him stories about the girl from the night before, how everything had worked out so perfectly at once, how my luck was changing and I now had some money and a girl.
“What should I do with Patrick’s phone?” he asked me.
“I’ll drop it by his house.”
* * * * *
The light turns yellow. I’m singing along to the music in my car and feeling elated with the sun and thoughts of a great girl and good money. As I turn left I think, “I shouldn’t turn left just now.” But I’m going, and these cars will stop for the light, but they don’t stop for the light, and I press the pedal down, and the truck in the left lane is passed, and I press the pedal down, and down, and the cars don’t stop for the light.
It was all of these factors, I guess. It was because I was in such a good mood over a girl, and over finally having some cash in my pocket. It was doing a favor and taking Patrick his phone. It was Charles taking the phone from Patrick. It was having too good of a time the night before.
Ironically, I’d now be without a car, and without expendable funds. This meant almost for certain I’d be without a girl, and might even lose the job. Maybe that was the plan of the Universe all along. I guess there’s no sense in trying to figure that out.
Sometimes, when you try to save a worm, it’s just going to be eaten by a toad.
7 months ago