Bugged (Daily Planet email #951)
Now you young ‘uns aren’t old enough to remember this, and you can thank your lucky stars for that, but a long time ago there were these insects. Tiny little guys, almost impossibly tiny, to think that they should be so small and yet have legs and a head and wings that work and be self-propelling and all. But they’d fly around your face, in your face, like they couldn’t get enough of your carbon dioxide and you’d wave your hand around trying to get them to scat, but they were so small and the displacing motion of your hand probably protected them, even. I say they, but there was just one at a time in your face. It was your bug. And here was the problem.
No one knew if they were God-made, or alien in origin. Well, they sure weren’t on Noah’s ark, so perhaps they were satanic? Anyway, their primary innovation, their market differentiator, was that they predicted your death. When you had one of these bugs in your face, it was a sign you were going to die, and soon. Once people figured this out — well, they freaked. Four people would be talking at dinner, a bug would appear, and the group would scatter screaming in all directions, hoping through their panic that the bug was not for them. Or maybe someone would be driving, then bug, and they’d get so crazy with anxiety that they’d crash their car, making it look self-prophesying. But it wasn’t. You’d find diaries of people alone, the bug appearing just before bed, and in the morning, only the diary, a half glass of water, and a stuffy bedroom in darkness.
You can see how this was no good for society. Besides the danger of random freakouts, the general level of fear was simply not productive for the economy or living in general. But you couldn’t catch these bugs to study them and no one wanted to be near them in any case, even for research. People tried masks and helmets, energy waves and radio bursts, unguents and rotating blades. The Acme company sent TNT and spring loaded launchers and a decoy female bug dressed up in lipstick, a wig, and fetching heels, but none of that worked either. So out came the poisons, and through trial and lots of error, it was settled that a precise blend of liquid pyrethrin and powdered oxamyl placed in an atomizer no farther than two feet from one’s face would ensure that the insect would not come near. Did the poisons make people sick? Heck, yes! And people still died, of course, the bug was only a harbinger. But not knowing was half the battle.
And so here we are today, in purportedly blissful ignorance. We know not the day nor the hour, so we can work hard right up until the end, or simply take it easy around every bend of the lazy river. Or something else! The not-knowing gives you choice. When you build a house of knowledge, then you have to live in it. Sorry kids, I don’t mean to be arcane. How about this? — a box of Legos can be anything, anything at all, until you start making something. Your dreams are infinite until put into action. A bottle with an insect is only two things, but an idea with an insect, well that’s everything. OK, storytime’s over. Time for snacks!
