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.
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.
"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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