The Scientist’s Birthday

By his 139th birthday, the scientist existed as a severed head in a jar of fluid.  Crisscrossing wires jutted out of the sides of the jar and connected to large computers that did things that only the scientist himself could explain.

“I think I’ll get him a hat,” I told my wife, Diane.  “Everyone is going to get him movies and books, but I think a hat is something he might like.”

“Good idea,” said Diane.

The party was a small gathering of the scientist’s closest friends.  Most of them were intellectuals and ex-professors that had known the scientist for years.  I only knew him because Diane had worked as one of his lab technicians while she was completing her masters.

The conversations were intimidating and it didn’t take me long to saunter off.

“I’m just a regular guy!” I sang to myself.  “I’m just a robot guy who was sent from the future to eat these little appetizers!”

I ate most of the appetizers.   For the pigs in a blanket, I pretended that I was a giant and I had found a little hot dog cart in the street.  The imaginary hotdog vendor had information that I needed and the longer he stalled, the more hotdogs I ate.

“WHERE IS THE DISC?” I asked the nonexistent vendor in my best robot voice.  “WHERE IS THE DISC?”  I asked again before gobbling up another appetizer.

“Hey!  We’re doing presents!” a voice called from the other room.

As it turned out, the scientist liked the books and movies so much that I began to have doubts about my gift.  Maybe it was a dumb idea.  But it was too late.  His assistant opened the box and held the hat delicately, turning it in his hands as if he didn’t understand.

The other guests offered some polite Oohs and Aahs, with one woman adding, “What a cute idea!” 

“I just hope that you went by the measurements of the jar and not my actual head,” said the scientist.

Everyone laughed along with him, but my heart sank. How could I have missed that consideration?

“Put the hat on me,” the scientist ordered his assistant.

The young man got to work trying to stretch the hat over the top of the jar, but my miscalculation was now obvious. 

“It won’t fit,” said the assistant.  “It’s too small.”

The scientist was clearly embarrassed and his frustration turned quickly to anger.

“Keep trying,” he barked.  “Stretch it, you weakling!”

The guests shot nervous glances to one another as the assistant continued to struggle.

“Harder!” the scientist screamed.

“Hey, look,” I said.  “I can exchange it for…”

“Nonsense!”

With a final grunt, the assistant managed to get the hat onto the top of the jar.  He took a step back and smiled.

“It looks great..” he started to say, but the jar exploded.  Everyone screamed and some of the guests raced into the kitchen to find another receptacle for the scientist’s screaming head.

“Oh God! Oh God, I am so sorry!”

The scientist glared at me for a second before his eyes rolled back into his skull.  He was dead.

On the way home, Diane said, “You’re honestly asking me why we didn’t have cake?  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t mean it like, let’s serve cake!”  I shouted.  “Like let’s all sit down and talk and eat cake.  You added that part!”

“Then what did you say?”

“I said they could have put the cake out and let us kind of pick at it,” I explained.  “Just like to snack on, you know?  While we waited for the ambulance or whatever. Do they send a whole ambulance for just a head?”

I looked at Diane, but she was looking out the window.

“It just seems excessive.  A whole, big ambulance for one, tiny head.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Oh so you’re not talking to me now.”