The Situation

"Alright look, I'll tell you about it--the whole glass thing--but you just have to promise me you're not going to like, roll your eyes or laugh or be dismissive about it or anything like that. And can you promise you won't do that thing where you like, pretend to be all overly understanding and like it's not a big deal that it's freaking me out or that it's not this totally fucked up situation, because honestly, that feels even worse. And trust me, no one I've told so far has even remotely come close to appreciating just how messed up and disturbing this situation is--they just act like it's a joke or something. Or like there's some easily plausible explanation that I'm just not seeing and oh well you know that's life and sometimes things like this just happen and--no, I'm sorry but no they do not. They do not just happen like this. I just--no it's alright, I'm calm--look, I'm just saying the thing that's starting to eat at me the most is how no one else seems to share an understanding about how much of a grave and--have I mentioned this yet--totally and unprecedentedly fucked up type situation this really is. This isn't the sort of thing you just leave unresolved and carry on with your life in some peaceful way. And I--alright see now I've just gone and done the thing where I fill you up so much about the idea of me not being understood that you're just going to do the thing where you pretend to understand, but like not in that way that other people pretend to understand right, I know, you'll assure me of that, and I just--okay look, you know what, I'm sorry. This is coming out all wrong. Could you just forget all of that? That's not me, and it's not important.

I'm just a little confused right now, about this situation I mean, and I know I keep calling it that--"the situation"--and I know it's vague and probably sort of creepy by now so let me just explain what's going on--I'm actually getting kind of good at it. And by the way, I really hope it doesn't seem weird to you now, you know, that I agreed to this date, now that you know about this shit going on--well, you don't yet, I mean I'm getting to that, I'm just saying I know how this looks and I know my profile had no mentionable references to any sort of massively fucked up situation in my present and ongoing life. I know that. I just thought I could use the night off from this stuff. I thought that coming here could help me get my mind off of it and maybe even offer some kind of healing or therapeutic effect, and yet here I am bringing it up just like I knew I would. But you're being very reassuring, and I appreciate that, I really do, and I can't find a reason not to trust you, especially not after leading you on this much--you know, just like, tractor-beaming you in with this shit at the slightest encouragement, which is something I feel really bad about by the way, but I think our appetizers are going to show up soon so let me just lay it out straight. And--hey, sorry about all that bullshit a minute ago, I don't want you to think I'm like, normally like this or anything.

Okay, so here's the situation. I have this glass--like, a drinking glass, right? Here, you know what--hold on a sec, I actually brought it with me, I hope this isn't--oh, no, it's okay, I'm sure the waiter won't mind. I just want to really demonstrate what's going on here, and yeah, don't worry, I'm like totally cognizant and aware of how weird and maybe even embarrassing this feels for you--like that I brought a from-home glass to the restaurant or something. I mean I guess I did, but rather like, that I'm someone who "does" that, you know? Or that you're with someone "like" that. I'm just saying it's not as though I've always gone around my entire life doing weird shit in restaurants and freaking people out on first dates, but honestly, you're kind of the one who insisted that I elaborate on this in the first place.

So, here's the glass. Nothing special about it, right? It's just a standard glass. Standard in its shape and size, standard in its clearness--right, you get the picture. When I bought this glass, it came in a pack of two. Two identical glasses--look, I have the screenshot of my Amazon order to prove it. No, really--look. Two of the same glass, right? Just two normal, standard, totally identical glasses, right? Okay, I know I'm really overselling this whole, "normal" and "standard", and like, oh-look-nothing-up-my-sleeve-so-far type thing, but I promise you these are important details to stress, trust me, because this is--I don't know, it's just one of those things where once you know it there's really never any unknowing it. It's like the timeline of your life just gets reduced to the singular point of pre-and-post knowing about this just, like, colossally upsetting and confusing and fucked up thing. It's like a curse or something, honestly, and I don't even know if I should tell you now--but I will, because at this point it would be so much weirder if I didn't, and not to be presumptuous or anything, but if there's like, a chance at something real here I'd rather start things out as honest as possible, because sooner or later this was going to come up, and listen, I really feel the need here to stress that if given a little more time to consciously prepare I would have chosen the later option on this particular issue, okay? I would not have chosen to ambush you like this. You seem really nice, and you're being so kind about all this so far, and--oh wow, these potato wedges are way bigger in person, aren't they? Do you want some ranch or something? Did you need like, a refill or anything? So these glasses, right--the two of them, this here being one, I keep them in the cupboard above my sink along with some plastic cups, a few bowls, coffee mugs, you know, just to paint the picture. Now, this next part is like the entire nucleus of the problem, so I'm going to try to say it as direct and plain as I can.

It was last Sunday. In the afternoon, I unloaded the dishes in the dishwasher from the night before. This included my two glasses, again, with this here being one. I placed them in the same spot they always go: in the cupboard above the sink, in front of the plastic cups. Later that night, I left for the airport. Oh yeah, I travel a lot for work, I can't remember if I mentioned that yet. So I get back home Tuesday morning right, and at some point--and see I don't quite remember when, because keep in mind that up until this point everything in my life as far as I knew was still totally normal and standard and what-have-you, but, I eventually make my way to the cupboard right, to grab one of my totally normal and standard and what-have-you glasses, only what do I find? What awaits me as I open the cupboard door? What's the whole reason that you're probably sitting there like, oh my god what is this nightmare situation of a date and I can't wait to tell so-and-so and what-not and so-forth? Here--I brought it too. I know--just, look, there. Do you see it? Do you see that thing? Look at it, look at it next to the other glass--here, look. Just take that in for a second. See it?

This is an exact recreation of what I saw when I opened that cupboard on Tuesday. The same cupboard with the same glasses that I distinctly remember putting away before leaving on Sunday. Do you see it? The second glass? It's half the size. The glass shrunk to half-size. It halved itself. Go ahead, pick it up. See how it's not cut or anything? Or melty-like? See how it's just like, a smaller version of the same glass? Like it was made that way? Here, look at the screenshot again, look, see how they're the same size in the pictures? See how uniform and exactly the same they were before? Go ahead and try to find a pair like that anywhere online--I mean like, that full-size and half-size glass type combo, go ahead, you won't find it. I've looked everywhere, and not because I'm like, doubting myself or anything--I know what shit I own. I just have to lay it all out like this--the proof, you know, like all the obvious questions people ask when I drop this meteoric shit on them, questions like: Are you sure one of the glasses wasn't already half-sized? Or: Do you own some other half-sized set of glasses and maybe the other full-sized one is just misplaced somewhere? Like, seriously? How fucking stupid and unaware of my own stuff do you think I am? I don't--oh shit, I'm sorry, here let me get that--sorry, I'll ask the waiter for some more napkins. You can finish these by the way, I honestly haven't had much of an appetite this week, not since Tuesday at least, when I found the glass.

Believe me, I know all too well the types of possible explanations you're silently conjuring up right now, and I'm not saying you're wrong for doing that--you're not. It's what any logical person would be doing right now, in fact if anything I respect you for it, I like that about you--that you're not just laughing about this. But I'm telling you, none of them are going to be right. It's unsolvable. It's an unsolvable mystery, just like the show. Do you know that show? I'm telling you, I could easily be on that show. I'd be like, the most watched episode of that show. That's the degree of unsolvability we're talking about here. Let me just tell you more about myself, okay? What my more, like, broad situation is, or at least as it pertains to any conceivable explanations of how this shit could have possibly happened.

So I'm new to this city--state, even. I'm a bit far from home, really. I moved here about a month ago. I actually live pretty close to this restaurant, right here in downtown. None of my friends know what my new address is, and neither does anyone in my family, even my mother. We're close, by the way--me and my mom. I think she'd like you. I travel a lot for work--I think I mentioned that--so I'm still sort of getting settled in with all of the little particulars of moving into a new place, and by that I just mean that I'm not like, listed in any phonebooks or have any mail set up to deliver here or whatever. The only person who knows where I live is my landlord--seriously--and he doesn't even have a key by the way, he gave me the only one. Plus, my landlord is like this decrepitly old guy in his eighties, and I honestly don't even think he could get up the front steps, let alone plot some sort of diabolical shit like this.

Okay, have we settled that part of it, then? That absolutely no one I know could have possibly done this as a prank or something? Here, take another napkin. Oh, and no signs of forced entry at all by the way, or any other kind of entry or disturbance for that matter. I'm telling you, absolutely nothing else in the apartment that was out of place or messed with. I'm really good about noticing stuff like that, and there was nothing, trust me, it was all exactly how I left it on Sunday. And I always keep everything locked too, like windows, everything. I'm like that. Honestly, you would not believe the lengths I've gone to over the last week trying to figure this shit out. I probably look terrible, I'm sorry about that. Last night I was up past 4 a.m. going over old school textbooks and scouring the internet for like, any mention at all of this effect. Like has glass ever been known to shrink down to half-size in some weird and maybe even like, up-until-now-only-theoretically-possible kind of time delayed reaction from a specific combination of chemicals in my dishwasher soap? Like maybe I inadvertently discovered some new strange and super rare type of chemical mechanics? Like something happened where it was just the right amounts of this or that and all of the molecules and stuff just like, clicked into place in the right way or however that shit works? Like in a way where the glass retains its uniform and market-ready nature? I mean like in a way that it doesn't get all distorted and stuff? It just comes out looking like a scaled-down version of the exact same glass? Has that ever happened? Is it even possible? Seriously, do you know?

So, yeah--that's more or less where I'm at right now. And I know you're all like, internally yikesy about this whole situation now, but come on, it's some pretty heavy shit, isn't it? And believe me, any other possible explanation from here on out is going to be as equally batshit crazy as the whole chemical anomaly thing. Like for example, here's the most plausible thing I can think of that could in any way possible explain how this happened--and remember, this is the MOST plausible, and I've put a lot of thought into this, so just keep that in mind. And I'm sorry about the drink by the way, thanks for being so cool about that. Plus it kind of seemed like you didn't like it anyway, I noticed that--I just mean that like, I don't want you to think I'm not "here" or anything, not noticing things and being a bad date and such, I'm totally here, and I'm totally willing and maybe even downright insisting that I buy you another drink--any kind you'd like, honestly, you deserve it for putting up with this. No? Alright, well just let me know if you change your mind.

The most plausible explanation I can think of is that some homeless or otherwise transient type figure somehow got into my apartment while I was gone; broke my glass; felt bad about it; went out into the world in search of a replacement; homelessly acquired the exact same styled glass, albeit halved, but said fuck it, close enough, and returned it to my cupboard all in a way that apart from this glass being halved left absolutely zero evidence behind to speak of. Again, most plausible. And no, it's not one of those like, crazy-homeless-guy-living-in-the-crawl-space or attic type things, and I'm also not saying I think homeless people are inherently crazy or whatever--in fact, and not to lose focus or anything, my politics on most things are usually pretty liberal, and I happen to think that the homeless crisis is one of the biggest and unfortunately most silent epidemics going on in our country right now, and you know, I could go on about that stuff, but I'm just saying the attic was like, the first thing I checked. I've seen those videos. I'm not going to get got like that. And I just want you to understand that I'm not kidding when I say I'm good at noticing this stuff. There's no way that someone with that much "street" on them would have been in my place without me noticing it. And I'm not like, OCD, or hobophobic or anything, and--oh, no, I said hobo actually, like as in afraid of the homeless, and it's not that, I'm just saying I'm sort of anal about certain things, you know?

I can tell how completely absurd all of this sounds, I hope you know how painfully aware of that I am. It's not like it's lost on me that what I'm doing right now isn't very fair, I mean like in the context of anything even vaguely passing the description of a date. Believe me, there's nothing I want more than to engorge myself on these wedges and just be happy and ignorant of any of this shit. If those Men-In-Black-memory-eraser things were real I'd zap myself in a heartbeat, don't even doubt it. Wait, do you know if there's anything like that? I contacted the manufacturer by the way--of the glass I mean. They don't even make a halved version of it. And you know, it's not like it's THAT unique of a glass or anything, but, okay look, you see here--on the bottom here? Look--see these little waves and nuances and such in the glass? See how they're the exact same on both glasses? That's what I mean. That's why my brain is just like, folding in on itself trying to figure this out. And look, it's not like I have any photo proof of the two glasses side-by-side in my apartment to objectively show that I actually had two identical-in-size glasses in my possession at one time, which should really only go to serve the point that I'm not like, the weird freak that I probably seem by now, like I'm someone who takes pictures of all their stuff just in case some inexplicably ghost-type shit happens to it, who would do that? A liar would do that. Like, if I was going to lie about this whole thing, that's what I would do, right? Like, oh look, there's the picture, there's the evidence that these were indeed two of the same identical-in-size glasses and were indeed in my possession pre-shrinking-event, and look there's me and there's the glasses and how lucky that I took that picture and how much it proves my story and so on. But no, I can't objectively prove to you that I'm telling the truth, and I know you didn't ask, but you must be thinking it by now. Who wouldn't be?

I'm starting to realize that's all anyone is ever going to think of this--that I'm lying. It's the only possible logical reasoning anyone can come to, like this neurologically reflexive conclusion that saves them from having to deal with this shit as a cursed reality like I do. I'm always going to be alone in that way, and I can't even fault anyone for it. I would probably be doing the same thing. Oh--you're not going to order an entree? Not saying I blame you, those wedges were huge. And please don't think I'm going to like, skimp out on the bill because I didn't order anything. This one's on me--and seriously, again, I don't want you to think I'm not in some way torn up over how poorly this date is probably going from your perspective, it's not like I'm not empathetic to your situation or anything, I hope you know that, and I'm just sort of banking on the idea that there's at least some points in here that are serving a dual purpose, you know, like showing you parts of who I am and stuff, like first date type getting to know you stuff, because there's other things about me, I'm not like this two-dimensional person in an eternal struggle over this glass shit or whatever--I like dogs, you know, and other stuff too. The thing is I just can't find a way to move on from it--the glass. No one can really grasp the predicament I'm in right now. I mean like how apocalyptic that moment was when I opened the cupboard, or how--and listen, this is important--how every second in my life that goes by from that moment is just one more compounding second spent not being able to explain in any way short of believing in magic how this thing could have possibly happened.

I don't know, maybe that's just it. Maybe I need to like, resign myself to believing that magic is real or god is real or that the universe is somehow capable of conspiring with itself to fuck with me personally--just some random individual to be put-upon for like, cosmic sport, or something. It's not like I'm a bad person or anything, which I know is normally weird to have to point out, but under the circumstances--no, here, let me, I promised. Did you want a box? There's enough for like a whole second meal there. I don't know, I guess there could be a peace in that--in giving yourself over to that belief. It's either that, or the belief in the world's most unbelievably stealth-like homeless guy with a heart of gold. I guess those are my choices, and I'm honestly not sure if supernatural wizardry is all that better of an option given the ghastly pandora's box of implications that it opens, and if I'm being totally honest, I feel like any amount of me potentially finding peace in any of these ideas is, by this point, just this sort of like hail-mary attempt to powerwash as much of this shit as possible from my psyche. It feels disingenuous and kind of just kills the whole idea for me, I don't know if that makes any sense. You're sure you don't want anything else?

I hope you can see where I'm at now, with this whole thing I mean. I hope I did an okay job at explaining it, and you know, that you don't--okay look, I know I sound like a crazy person, and I know that me telling you that "I'm not crazy" is like, the hallmark statement of crazy people, so I'm not going to bother doing that, I just really hope you understand, you know, that I'm not always like this; that my situation is horrifying and pitiable and lonely; that anyone else could have just as easily found themselves as stressed and worked up as I am over this; that it all makes sense in that it doesn't make any fucking sense whatsoever; and that--wow, it's cold out here. Where did you park? I'll walk you there. That it's just this, like, stain on my life now. It's like, bleached into my bones--this not knowing. This never being able to know. And now I have to learn how to live my life all over again, like someone who's been in a horrific accident, you know, learn how to exist with this new, like, terminal illness type thing that never actually kills me, at least not in any physical kind of way. Maybe that sounds too dramatic, or for all I know it's not dramatic enough. I'm starting to have a hard time telling things like that apart anymore. And again, I'm sorry about the drink and just like, this whole thing. It's so monumentally embarrassing to be this open about how much it's messing with me, but I'm an honest person, and I hope if there's one takeaway from the night for you it's that--because I think I'd like to see you again. So just--oh, yeah, I'm okay to drive, thanks. Well, I actually walked here. I don't live too far, just a few blocks. I'll be alright, though, really. I'm going to take a little time off from work, to help get my head straight, you know, it'll do me some good, I think. That reminds me, what do you do for work?"