Accidental Pickles
The first time came suddenly. It was one of those moment no one ever really remembers, you just look down at the pickles and glass as the vinegar drips and pools around your feet.
At first, it doesn’t make sense. That should have been in your hand. For a few seconds you stare in dumbfounded perplexity at an apparent inconsistency of the normal string of events. What should have been an easily executed plan has suddenly ended in a crash without any explanation. And in that realization, the machine grinds to a halt; your world stops.
A heart beat.
Then your faithful mind’s reasoning kicks in and draws a clear and solid line from the moment of release to the point of impact. It uses words like “trajectory” and “acceleration by gravity” that immediately send ripples of comforting closure to a disappointing separation.
There’s a reassuring ding as the system confirms a completed report and the bits of glass are thrown away – along with a pickle that, after all, you didn’t really want – and the incident is filed under ”accidents” and quickly forgotten.
The next moments comes, and the machine falls into its familiar and comfortable hum.
