The Problem

"What seems to be the problem?"

I showed him.

"Oh", the store clerk gasped. Not quite the response I was expecting. "Um, I think this is well out of my sphere of responsibility. Let me get my manager". He departed as fast as he could. Not quite running, as that would look embarrassing, but not a walk of any elegance. More of a dash with more hip used than should be. It looked embarrassing.

<>The manager slinked over. I think he was hoping I would find him invisible and not have to deal with me. I was surprised to find he hadn’t brought the clerk with him as backup. He saw that I was more confused than angry, felt a bit better, took a breath and asked, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed him. <>

“Shit”, he choked. Could it really be such a big deal? I refused to let it get to me just yet. There must be a logical explanation and solution. “Let me get the store owner”, he managed to blurt out, with considerable difficulty I noted. He moved away in much the same way as the clerk had. <>

The owner! I was moving quickly up the ranks. The problem must be worse than I had thought. <>
Just before the owner arrived, I took a peak around the corner and saw the clerk. He was slumped on a chair, his head in his hands. He looked shattered. I took a paranoid look around. It felt now that everyone was looking at me. I don’t mean everyone in the store, I mean them plus the entire world watching me through the security surveillance cameras in the corners, beaming my image and my problem via the internet to the entire population of the universe. I quelled the paranoia just as the owner asked me, “What seems to be problem?” <>

I showed her. <>

“Fuck me”, she cried. I don’t think it was an offer. She sat down. It looked like she had no choice and had only narrowly avoided toppling on the floor. She picked up the phone and dialled a number. “Please bare with me one moment, sir.” She spoke briefly to a muffled voice down the line and hung up. She turned to me and said, “You are in luck”, with a look that clearly stated that luck had probably deserted me at birth, “The chairman of the board is upstairs at our Annual General Meeting. Please come with me and he will see you”. <>

Right, I thought. I extended the “aye” syllable for a good 11 seconds. <>

The journey up to the top floor, where the boardroom was located, was an interesting one. The owner led me down a corridor that looked like a dead end but which, following a strange 111 degree turn, turned out to be an optical illusion as an elevator was discovered. A complex series of strange body movements, key presses and security card swipes got the elevator headed up. <>

I was asked to sit on a ridiculously comfortable couch while the store owner preceded through a set of huge oak double doors that I assumed led to the actual boardroom. After a decent 111 twiddles of my thumbs, a burly, fat, red faced man came through the doors and bellowed, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed him. <>

“Gurk”, he gurgled, clutching his left breast as he toppled straight over backwards. <>

The procession of witnesses to his death began with a secretary, who tentatively pronounced him dead, followed by all the board members, who couldn’t decide whether to pronounce him dead, a parade of paramedics who stated they were powerless to save him but didn’t have the authority to pronounce him dead, some members of the constabulary who immediately proclaimed that no one was dead until they said so and finally a doctor, who officially pronounced him dead. I was dragged to the police station and thrown in a cell “to keep me safe” while the paperwork was prepared for an interrogation. I called my lawyer, who agreed to meet me at the interrogation. <>

This had certainly been a strange morning. I still had no idea whether my problem could be fixed. <>

I was feeling quite exhausted and lay down on the bunk to have a power nap. When sleep refused to cooperated I counted 111 sheep before a small, mousy police officer grabbed me and manhandled me to the interrogation room. There were two of them. They had clearly decided to try the good cop/bad cop cliche, as one was immaculately dressed, well groomed and clearly had white-out applied to his teeth. The other's hair was ruffled, his clothes were tatty and he had a fake eye-patch. They asked me, “What was the last thing the chairman said”. I said, “Gurk”. They asked, “Before gurk!”, I said, “He said: what seems to be the problem?”. They quizzed, “What seems to be the problem?”. <>

I showed them. <>

“Ack!”, said one, falling back off his chair. “Excuse me”, said the other as he fled the room. There were distinct sounds of someone being sick soon after. I was beyond listening to my paranoia. Let’s see where this goes, I thought. There must be someone who can stay composed long enough to help me with my problem. The officer who had fallen off his chair got up, muttered something about my lawyer being outside and left the room. My lawyer entered, sat down and asked, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed him. <>

“I see”, he proclaimed, clearly trying not to flinch. “Well, I’d say you are free to go.” He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a card out of it and handed it to me. “This is the address of a good doctor I know, I think you should go see her, she is just around the corner.” He got up and added, “No charge today”, before leaving, quickly. <>

No charge! How serious could this problem be for a lawyer to waive a fee? Shit. <>

I saw the door was left open, so I exited through it and didn’t see a single soul in the police station for the entire journey to the street. I thought I saw someone hiding behind a filing cabinet, but couldn’t be sure. <>

I made my way resolutely to the doctor’s office. Without an appointment, I had to wait quite a while. Could have been hours, but I wasn’t sure as think I was in shock. Eventually the doctor saw me and proceeded to ask, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed her. <>

“Angelina”, she whispered into an intercom on her desk, “Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day, I am going home”. OK, I thought, with the emphasis on the O. “This is not in the realm of medical expertise. Can I suggest you visit your local member of parliament? Farewell, no charge today”. She left. <>

I thought about calling Guinness Book of Records as I must be the first person in history to see a lawyer and a doctor in the same day without paying a cent. It was unheard of. My problem was turning into a problem. I left the doctor’s office, ignoring the look of abject terror on Angelina’s face. <>

I started walking in a direction, not knowing where the office of my local member was. I stopped a knowledgeable looking gentlemen and asked directions. He told me where to find my region’s MP and, curious at the mixed looks of desperation and determination on my face, asked me, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed him. <>

He took at step back and was hit by a passing bus. The day was getting on, my patience was wearing thin and so I chose to walk on, simply hoping he was alright. I figured the cops wouldn’t want to interview me again, anyway. <>

The politician sat me down in his office and rattled off a speech that lasted at least half an hour, describing his skills, his views, why they were right, why the others were wrong, his virtues, his family, his ability to listen and his morally, ethically, legally, logically and God given Good Nature. He finally ended, realising I was still in the room, with, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed him. <>

He gave me the look reserved by politicians for photographers in the case where a political ally has been caught with a dead hooker in their family home. He then looked me in the eyes and gave me the look reserved for when a political rival has been found with a dead hooker. He opened his mouth a couple of times, before closing it with nothing to say. Guinness was definitely going to get a call from me. <>

He put me in a limousine to the airport, which delivered me to a private jet which flew me to the capital. Another limousine took me to parliament house, and a forlorn aide took me to the Prime Minister who asked, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed her. <>

She called an emergency sitting of the House of Representatives and I was placed in the seat reserved for foreign dignitaries. I had no idea my problem would be so important. I was feeling quite special. It was a brazen act of psychological denial in the face of mind crippling paranoia, but I was quite proud of the mental resilience I was displaying. The Speaker of The House boomed through a microphone, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed them all. <>

A wave of gasps flowed majestically through the room. Both sides were in agreement. I added that to the Guinness list. I was escorted from the room and sat outside. Some thoughtful, and quite attractive, assistant handed me some food. I wolfed it down, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It dawned on me at that point that I had agreed to have lunch with my wife as it was our anniversary. I was simply going to the store to sort out the problem, then meet her. Shit, I was going to be in the doghouse now. I rang her on my mobile. She had seen me on the news, evidently every tv channel was following my progress. She said she understood that I had forgotten our anniversary. At that, I figured that Guinness would have to rename their book “The Guinness Book of My Records”. She wished me luck and said goodbye. The tone was more “adieu” than “au revior”. After a long time left to my thoughts, an entourage of people around the Prime Minister exited the chamber and we all shuffled into a cavalcade of limousines and rode without a word spoken to the airport. We all boarded a jumbo and took off. <>

No one spoke to me the whole flight, and I didn’t have the courage to ask where I was being taken. The moving map on a projection screen told me we were headed to America. I slept and awoke to find we were landing in New York. Another limo ride later and I found myself in front of the United Nations building. I noticed there were no cars on the street, or pedestrians walking around. In the distance was a large group of army personnel. My problem was reaching epic proportions. I was paraded into the Main Assembly to find it filled with every UN delegate in the world. I was sat down, a spotlight on me. I could see the press gallery was full and there were cameras everywhere. Without much ado, the Secretary General tapped on his microphone, turned his best profile to the cameras, his eyes to me and asked, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed the world. <>

The power went out. When the power goes out in the Main Assembly of United Nations Headquarters, it’s not simply a fuse that has blown. It turns out that all the fuses had blown, the main grid had died, the backup generators had exploded and most of the state of New York was without power. Fortunately, the Jamaican delegates had some massive jet lighters that lit up most of the room. After much conference, it was decided to put me on a military plane headed for the Vatican to meet the Pope, who asked, “What seems to be the problem?” <>

I showed his Holiness. <>

“Fuck”, he said, presumably for the first time in his life. He apologised. I wondered if he knew the Guinness people personally. He cupped his chin in his hand and pondered for what seemed like an eternity. When it was clear that he had actually fallen asleep, an archbishop moved over to him with a large staff and prodded him. It looked to me, from the design of it, that this staff had been created precisely for this purpose. The Pope awoke with a start, looked at me, looked at the archbishop and nodded. The archbishop’s eyes grew with awe and when the Pope handed him an ornate jewelled key from a chain around his neck I wondered how his eyeballs were staying attached. He led me to a small ante-chamber, the size of a walk-in closet, which had an ornate door leading from it. The archbishop handed me the key, pointed to a keyhole in the door and shuffled out. He and The Pope left the room in much the same way as the clerk had done, what seemed like a lifetime ago. I put the key in the keyhole, turned it and pushed the door open. There was nothing there. No light, no dark, no matter, no THING. I stepped forward and disappeared. <>

I large part of me hoped I would be confronted with the Architect, but I was disappointed with God instead. He/She appeared as an androgynous being, of average height and build and indeterminate race. I knew it was God as almost every atom in my being knew. There was one iota at the back of my mind that chose to be neutral until more evidence came in, but it was easily ignored when He/She said in the most pleasing tenor, “What seems to be the problem? <>

I showed God. <>

He/She blinked. And again. “I don’t usually blink”, God apologised. “I am afraid I can’t help you”, He/She added. <>

“What?”, I gawked, “You can’t be serious”, I said in my best McEnroe impersonation. “You are God. The creator, the all-knowing, the all-doing, the all-seeing! It’s all bullshit!”, I bellowed. My day was not going well, I felt I had dealt with it in the calmest possible way and this was the last straw and if it was God who finally got a peice of my mind then so be it. <>

“It’s true I am the creator”, God replied. “However, the universe is a little like your human computer systems. I wrote the code of the program a few billion years ago, took me seven days, you know, and then ran it. I fixed a few obvious bugs here and there for a while, some which required a reboot. But once life developed, I felt morally obliged to not reset the system, as I don’t have backups and the system would have to start from scratch. I, for one, don’t intend to wait another 30 billion years to see Revenge Of The Sith!” <>

Taken aback, all I could think of to say was, “You are God, don’t you know what’s going to happen. Most of it's on the Internet, for a start. Surely you could arrange an advance screening?”. <>

God covered His/Her ears and proclaimed, “Shut up! I have avoided all spoilers, I don’t want to know”. <>

“But…”, I stopped. “Hang on, I am losing the plot here, what about my problem? What am I supposed to do?” <>

“Well, there are two kinds of bugs in the universal code. Those that can be fixed without a reboot and those that can’t. Your problem is one that can’t. I am truly sorry.” <>

And that was that. I found myself suddenly sitting in front of the television at home. The TV was blaring my name and displaying my picture. All sorts of analysts and commentators were paraded across interview tables, each with a theory, each with an opinion. None with a solution. For my problem. <>

That’s the last time I shop at that store.