Milo and the Missing Socks
by John Kaniecki
Milo carefully examined the empty cavity of the machine.
The scientist was an expert on a variety of highly technological contraptions.
He had serviced nuclear power plants, gamma energy generators, proto plasma
engine spaceships along with a wide and diverse variety of robots and androids.
Today, however, he was looking into a clothes dryer.
Doctor Milo Myron was meticulous for
details. He found this necessity early on in his pursuing the multitudes of
various sciences. In fact, in his well-qualified opinion next to mastery of
mathematics, close attention to details was a distant second in importance. Milo remembered early in his undergraduate career the
frustrations of sloppy notations. The ambitious freshman strove all night to
solve a mathematical homework problem. Despite working into three cups of
coffee exhaustion, he was humbled by his lack of ability to get the correct
answer. Early the next morning in the class the professor with a slight twinge
of embarrassment confessed that he had transcribed the equation incorrectly to
the blackboard. "I hope I didn't cause any inconvenience" he lightly
dismissed his error. But the lesson was learned quite well.
Milo had a clear list of what his laundry consisted of.
He had even gone to the point to tag the various articles of clothes, written
on the list there were three jeans, two white dress shirts, one blue dress
shirt, three pair of boxer underwear and six black socks. Now however after
removing all the articles and carefully folding them into his basket all was
there, save one black sock. Undaunted Doctor Myron stuck his head deep into the
clothes dryer's empty cylinder.
It was at this
point Doctor Milo Myron's rival Doctor Clarence Thrift came strolling by. He
was whistling Dixie though he did not know the
origins of his tune and certainly not the implications for Doctor Clarence
Thrift was of African origin and overall a pleasant and jovial creature. So
when he walked by the common area which contained the washers and dryers it
struck him extremely humorous that one of his colleagues had half his body
submerged into a clothes dryer. So adhering to his grand philosophy to enjoy
life he let out his unique deep laugh.
Milo heard the pleasant sound very distorted from deep
inside the dryer. It served nothing more than to distract him from his mission
of searching for his missing sock. In fact, forgetting his relationship in time
and space, the good doctor attempted to stand erect. This resulted in the
banging of his head. Now being painfully thrust into awareness Milo retracted his upper body from the clothes dryer.
Turning around, he glared at the individual who mocked him. Realizing it was
none of then his nemesis Doctor Clarence Thrift, Milo
gritted his teeth in anger.
"Good Lord, Doctor Myron," exclaimed
Doctor Thrift. Though neither of the scientists would openly talk about it
without a doubt, there was a rivalry between the pair. Everyone in the enclave
knew it. In fact, it could be scientifically proven that animosity existed
between the pair. To do such would involve linguists to analyze conversation
coupled with biologists to monitor heartbeat, blood pressure and electronic
activity in various locations of the brain. However, it was understood from the
fact that the pair never talked to one another despite both being men of many
words.
"Ah, if it none other than, Doctor
Clarence Thrift," said Doctor Myron as his mind whirled trying to
calculate the exact probability that this appearance was random or
coincidental, "How convenient for you to arrive at this exact moment."
Doctor Clarence Thrift possessing no
less than three Ph.D.'s knew an allegation when he heard one. He was nobody's
fool, except of course for the defense department, the politicians and an
attractive woman wearing tight clothes. "And what exact moment are you
referring to my good man?" Thrift desired to know.
Doctor Milo Myron's research was painstakingly
calculated. He had eliminated possibility after possibility from the possible
causes that could be responsible for his missing socks. At first, he thought it
was his imagination. Why how could the socks be missing? Sure there was an odd
number present which was vastly illogical. However, covering any contingency,
it was even possible that he had acquired an extra sock. As time progressed, it
became apparent that his number of socks was in fact diminishing. Like any good
scientist, he wanted to know why.
It wasn't rocket science a field by the way
which Doctor Milo Myron was one of the world's foremost experts if not number
one. Ah, there was the rub for coming in at a close second if not on top was
none other than Doctor Clarence Thrift. So now in the cool, calculating
thoughts of Milo emotions were interjected and
he lost the context of his reasoning. Knowing the confusion, he focused upon
the prime reason for his consternation. "My sock is missing!" roared
Doctor Milo Myron.
"I am
sorry to hear that," replied a baffled Clarence Thrift.
"Are you," hissed Doctor Myron,
"are you really?" The scientist's face which was usually almost as
pale as his white jacket was now a vibrant red.
"And just
what are you implying?" demanded Doctor Thrift.
"Do I
need to spell it out to you?" shot back Milo.
"Are you
accusing me of thieving your sock?"
By now a
couple of other scientists of the enclave were gathering at the door. They had
heard the ruckus and curiosity, a basic common element in scientists, had
gotten the better of them. The urge to find out what was going on trumped the
protocol to be polite.
"Not just
one sock," said Doctor Milo Myron, "but at least seven if not
more!"
"Why
that's preposterous," bellowed Doctor Clarence Thrift. "What would I
want with your stinky socks?"
"Hmmff,"
snorted Milo absorbing the blow. His deeply
rooted training kicked in. He would not let this get to be anything other than
a scientific endeavor. However, those who were congregating by the door in open
rudeness let out a laugh.
"You
impinge my honor sir," Doctor Clarence Thrift laid down the gauntlet.
"I ask
you what are the odds of you coming by at the exact moment when I was searching
for my missing sock?" It was a question that demanded an answer.
"Let's see," mumbled Clarence.
"The enclave has about seven hundred scientists all with access to this
area. Include another roughly thirteen hundred support personnel. Now the
numbers of visitors are an unknown but if we allow one for every three
residents why that would-"
"Pretty
damn high isn't it?" Milo's words were
piercing.
"Yes,"
said the rival scientist, "I cannot deny that mathematical
conclusion."
"Now I
have eliminated all other possibilities from my exhaustible list,"
declared Milo.
"All?"
Clarence questioned.
"All
except gremlins devouring them," Doctor Myron slashed full of sarcasm.
"Calm
down good sir," said Clarence, "there must be some logical
conclusion."
"Okay, for the past month I have counted
my socks daily, at noon and night before I retire to go to sleep. Every time I
count them it is consistent that all of them are there. Therefore knowing it is
a felony to break into a room and furthermore that none of the socks are ever
missing, I believe I can safely conclude that nobody is stealing my socks from
my private quarters."
"You have
been counting your socks for a month?" whispered Doctor Thrift in
disbelief.
"Now,"
continued the other incessantly, "whenever I bring the said socks and all
my articles down to the laundry room I record and detail the entire
inventory." Doctor Milo Myron waved his tally sheet into the air.
"All right," said Doctor Clarence
Thrift beginning to see the severity in the matter. "So I assume that in
the time from your room until the time you take them to the wash that no
articles are missing."
"That is correct," replied the irate
colleague.
"Now
examine the articles in contention," Milo
waved his hand over the laundry basket full of clothes.
Doctor Clarence Thrift stepped into the
laundry room. "Yes, I observe that all the articles are both pinned and
that the pins are color-coded with beads."
"Yes they
are," screeched Doctor Milo Myron.
"And so
no items are lost in the washing machine?"
"Absolutely
not."
"Hmm,"
said Doctor Thrift stroking his short immaculate beard.
"So I have narrowed it down to the dryer.
However, items only disappear when I leave the dryer unattended for longer than
five minutes." Doctor Milo Myron said grandly.
"I think
I know the problem here," said Doctor Clarence Thrift.
"And that
is?"
"Psychological
warfare," the words dropped out of Doctor Thrift's mouth with slow
deliberation.
"Really?"
Milo exclaimed in puzzlement.
"Without
a doubt," proclaimed Doctor Clarence Thrift, "or perhaps there is
some psychological problem with your brain." The several other scientists
gathered murmured.
"Now I see it," said Milo must unsure. "I am the most brilliant scientist
in this enclave-"
Doctor Clarence Thrift repeatedly
coughed each subsequent time the louder.
"Or rather I am one of the most brilliant
scientists in this enclave if not the world." Doctor Milo Myron paused
just because he thought those words were so fine. "They needed some way to
distract me. Knowing my obsessive history with details, they found a clever and
subtle way to attack me."
"And me
coming by at this exact time was pure coincidence," said Doctor Clarence
Thrift rather proud of himself.
Doctor Milo
Myron lifted his plastic container full of neatly folded laundry. "Occam's
Razor my dear chap Occam's Razor."
"And what
do you mean by that?" asked Clarence.
"Did you
not venture into reading philosophy?"
"It was
not my strong suit if I must be honest."
Doctor Milo Myron smiled gingerly.
"Ah my good friend," there was no attempt to hide the drooling
sarcasm. "Occam's Razor tells us to accept the easiest simplest solution.
Allow me to explain. Your theory of this top secret enclave being infiltrated
while plausible is extremely sophisticated, is it not?"
"Well yes I'd have to admit
so," Doctor Clarence Thrift reluctantly agreed. He was an expert on
strategy and knew precisely where this was going.
"Is it
not rather simpler to say that some comrade is having a good time at the
expense of the poor doctor?"
"Why yes, Milo
but-"
"It is Milo to my friends good sir, but to you, it is Doctor
Milo Wilberhouse Myron the Third." With his laundry basket tucked under
his arm, the scientist abruptly exited the room thrusting himself past Doctor
Clarence Thrift and the others.
Doctor
Clarence Thrift now felt supremely embarrassed and inside an agitation was
flaming the fires of anger. He too stomped out of the room past the several
anonymous scientists.
As soon as the others were out of sight, the
gathered crowd began to buzz about the events that they had witnessed. Without
a doubt, the rumor mill was churning, and news of this encounter would spread
throughout the entire domain. Finally, they too departed.
Clicks of the
clock passed until finally from behind the dryer a small greenish head full of
fur popped up. "I think they're all gone Bert," whispered the minute
creature.
"Oh thank
God," said a voice of a second gremlin, "for a moment there I thought
we were done!"
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