science

A Hitchiker's Guide to the Nervous System

How I hated that. I stood in front of the door, the overflowing bag of groceries balancing perilous on my hip (the paper slowly soaking from the thawing ice cream; an apple already on its way out), while the key wouldn't go in. I felt my impatience slowly turning into anger – which wouldn't help with the door at all. Finally, the key slipped in. The apple made its final lurch and landed with a heavy thud on the floor, bounced off, and decided to go for a walk down the stairs. Of course. How I hated that shit.

The bag was completely sodden by the time I had fetched the renegade apple, the paper close to bursting, and a puddle of thaw water edging over my kitchen table. I puffed a strand of hair out of my brow and poured myself a glass of tap water; it was as hot in here as it had been outside. I hadn't taken a sip (simply witnessing the water spreading over the table) as my mobile chimed.

U already seen this?

Followed by a YouTube-link. The title below the thumbnail reads: DENT'S OUT – NO ONE IS SAFE! I MADE A HUGE MISTAKE!! Here we go again, I thought.

Nope. Whats it??

See yourself!

Don't text me before u ve seen it. I know how long it is!!!!

I smiled and tapped the link.

The app opened and I turned the mobile to get the video into full screen; the fresh glass of tap water all the while hovering mid-air, waiting to be drunk. The first seconds, the first long seconds, consisted of a still life: the back of an office chair, a shelf and a potted plant zooming in and out of focus. I tapped the video to see how long this would take. Ten minutes. I sighed.

Finally, after a full minute of not-so-stunning office vista, the star of this clip showed up. He had a bewildered look about himself; haunted eyes, hollow cheeks, unshaven, glasses perched on a thin nose – the last missing touch would've been the lab coat splattered with a range of unidentifiable liquids and the occasional hole.

"He ..." He licked his lips. "All right. Dent's out. He was distributed over the last three months. Worldwide. First tests show –" He shot a nervous glance to the upper left of the little screen. "First tests show a prevalence of two thirds in North America, four fifth in the whole of Europe, and at least one third in Asia. Africa wasn't tested yet. But it's due." His eyes dimmed a bit. "I made a huge mistake. Everything is at stake. Everything!"

Here we go again. The usual End-of-the-World-Babble; the talk of conspiracy theorists – Bush did 9/11; The Great Pyramid Hoax; The Nazis outlive us all on the dark side of the moon; and, my favourite, We're Governed by Lizardmen. I only half listened to his incoherent babble while I placed the glass of water back beside the sink and started to clean up the puddle of thaw water with a fresh ZEWA kitchen roll; half an eye still on the display.

"—ICP0, ICP4 and VP16." Again, his wide-eyed stare left the camera. At least he isn't sitting inside a rundown pub, talking to a flock of badly informed middle-aged men.

"Yes, right." He seemed distracted. As if he talked to someone outside the field of view. "That's too complicated. I'll start anew." For a moment, he looked like he wanted to get up; instead he straightened himself and stared right into the camera.

"My name is Armin Weinmann. Dr. Armin Weinmann." Oh my. As if a fake PhD would make this any more serious. I chipped the sodden ZEWA over into the bin. I started to unpack the contents of my grocery bag, pre-sorting them onto the table, depending on whether the things went into the fridge or into the cupboard. I placed my mobile against a pack of cheese to be able to watch and sort in an efficient manner. No way I would waste ten minutes of my life watching this conspiracy theory.