My Own Personal Universe

Slumped against the wall of the capsule, I wait. The air's ratio of oxygen to carbon dioxide drops with every breath. Nothing to do but wait.

The plan had seemed like a good one. Nobody would expect the utterly insane act of riding one of the shipping barges down to the planet. Stowing a pressurized capsule in one of the mining containers seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution. Sure, the acceleration would be a bit high to begin with, but I'd experienced worse -- though not for so long.

While it was extremely uncomfortable, I made it through what I thought would be the hard part. Now I just wait. The receiving yard hadn't dropped a shipment in years. They're too expensive. I'd be fine, I told myself. Then there was the collision. I felt more than heard it. A deep, short vibration and a slight lurch that knocked my weightless head against the side of the tube -- exactly the sort of thing that should never happen on an unpowered barge.

That was 2 days ago. I'm 18 hours overdue now. I have no way of knowing what happened or what's happening now. I probably only have a few hours left. I'm panting in the thick, humid air.

I try to remember the training. Every moment, every possibility is a split where every possible outcome becomes a reality. Every time someone flips a coin or decides what to have for dinner, their own personal universe splits, and every outcome is realized. It's hard to think about these things I feel doomed.

I try to focus on the future. I know at this point that in many eventualities, I will be dead soon. Presumably, there exist a large number in which I will be saved. Even after all these years, it's hard to suppress the thought that I don't want to die. But in a sense, I already have died many, many times. But the me who's sitting here in this universe hasn't experienced death and doesn't want to.

This line of thought can be calming if you're not slowly asphyxiating. Those bastards had better get here soon.

"Walkway is slippery when wet or icy conditions exist."

These signs piss me off. "Floor may be slippery when wet."

Many companies are just permanantly installing these things now. They want to be covered in case someone falls and breaks their head. They can't rely on their minimum-wage janitors to swoop in with these orange signs and cones every time a drop of liquid hits their tractionless waxed floors, so they just keep them out all the time.

Car washes permanently install signs on the street warning of ice. They'd be a bizarre sight in the middle of sweltering August, but nobody even sees them anymore. They've become invisible -- just part of the noise.

These signs exist not because they help anyone, but because the first reaction of most Americans is to cast blame. These companies want to be able to say, "We told you! You should have been careful!"

Because you're going to slip anyway. How many times have you tripped over "watch your step" signs cracked your skull on "watch your head?" Most of the time, these hazards are obvious. It's raining outside, and you head into a grocery store. Should you be stunned to find that the floor is slippery? A carwash leaves a big wet slick of water trailing into the street. It's below freezing. Should you be flabbergasted that ice has formed?

What do these signs really mean when they warn you about the potential existence of ice, and the possible effect on traction?

"Ice is slick, idiot."

Watch our for yourself.