Lost Time Incident

October 04, 2004

It Is Leafy and It Wants to Live

"They said I was mad," said Dr. Hobbler. He took a deep, shuddering sigh. "And they were probably right."

"What's the worst crime against science you've ever committed?" asked someone with a microphone. The doctor couldn't be bothered to read anyone's name tag. The effort was beyond him.

"To talk of crime's against science is preposterous in the extreme. But... I would like to think my pedantic days are behind me," said Dr. Hobbler. "I believe the sort of thing you would like to hear would be something along the lines of this: in April of last year, I created the world's first sentient salad."

Other men and women holding microphones struggled mightily not to gasp. Not all of them were able to restrain themselves. Some of those microphones picked up gasping. But the doctor was pausing, so it was easily overlooked. But had their gasping drowned out a single syllable of the doctor's, some of those microphone wielding folks would be out of work.

"Yes, it was not easy. Nor, in fact, was it desired by anyone I have ever spoken to. But I found that by submerging the components of the salad into a nutrient rich soup of my own design, then heating it with geothermal arrays-- which are a bitch to install, let me tell you-- I was able to help the salad realize that it was a salad."

"But, Doctor," said one man in a suit holding a microphone. "Surely this is impossible. A salad is composed of many separate elements. You've usually got lettuce, if not cabbage or spinach. Then maybe some carrots, cucumber, tomato, cheese, bread ... squares. What are they called? Like toast? Croutons! And they're all made of different material!"

"This is true," said Dr. Hobbler.

"So how could it possibly become self-aware?" asked a woman in a suit holding a microphone.

"It just did. I wrote it all down if you don't believe me." Hobbler rubbed his eyes. "Seriously, can any of you read? I printed it out."

A few microphones dipped, swayed, but no one raised their hand.

"What do salads think about?" asked a voice from the back.

"Mostly," said Dr. Hobbler, "they do not desire to be eaten. This is their primary thought. And... it is very unfortunate fact. Because that is what salads are created for."

One of the microphone-wielding women had a daughter at home. This daughter was unaware of the above interview, but had she been made aware of it, she might have suggested that the doctor could have contacted a good fairy through fervent wishing. Then, using fairy magic, perhaps the salad could have become a real boy. Then it wouldn't have to be eaten.

This argument would not have swayed Hobbler. But it's an option that merits some thought. Maybe.

"I ATE THE SELF-AWARE SALAD!" said Hobbler. Sound engineers adjusted the levels on dozens of microphone feeds. "I WAS HUNGRY! AND NOT ONLY WAS IT A TERRIBLE SALAD BECAUSE IT WAS WARM AND AWASH IN NUTRIENTS INSTEAD OF DRESSING--"

The doctor's eyes finally lifted to take in his audience.

"But now... ladies and gentlemen... I cannot stop having salad-y thoughts. The salad lives on in me. And the salad... is not happy. It would like to be free. So I have called you all here today, ladies... gentlemen... to murder me. To get it out."

A few more gasps were heard. Sound engineers clucked their tongues softly, making mental notes to edit out the gasping.

"Under your seats, you will all find sharp knives. Suitable for cutting through aluminum cans as easily as they cut through flesh and bone. I... am not wearing aluminum clothing. You should have no problem removing the salad from me. Please... work quickly."

The sound engineers didn't know what to do with the recorded sound of microphones being set down, of metal sliding free from metal. Of folded seats being pushed back.

Of a weary man's whispered thanks.

Or of the sound of a grateful salad being born a second time.

Posted by Michael at October 04, 2004 08:54 PM