NervousMan Eats a Porkchop Sandwich

NervousMan arrived back from the store just as the sun was setting. He closed the door quietly behind him, turned on the light, and made his way to the kitchen.

"I am lonely," thought NervousMan.

On the way back from the store, NervousMan remembered, he had passed the park again. And in the park, a man was standing on a box and speaking to some of the people there very loudly.

"Repent!" the man's voice boomed out above the heads of the bewildered park-goers. "You people need to pay attention to what is happening in the world! Jesus is coming back and God is going to judge us all for our sins and our iniquities! Repent! Don't you see the signs around you? America is full of vile and filthy iniquities that only the blood of Jesus can cleanse! America will be judged by God! Look around you! The value of the dollar is falling! Pretty soon it will not even be worth the amount of the paper it is printed on! Repent! For it says...."

The man then quoted a bible verse. Matthew something verse something, NervousMan remembered. But NervousMan could not remember what it was. The man was too far away from NervousMan at that point, his loud voice becoming unintelligible in the distance.

The man on the box made NervousMan nervous. So loud and frightening. The God he spoke of was not the God as it was talked about in the book he got from the library. That God didn't judge. It just forgave. And loved.

"God is love," thought NervousMan. Someone said that once. But he could not remember who. Maybe no one knew who said that really, he thought again. Maybe it was just an idea a lot of people thought about.

NervousMan gently sat his bag of things down on the counter top and started pulling out items.

Here was a can of chili. NervousMan remembered that he had bought it for one dollar and twenty-nine cents. Here was a half gallon of milk. That had been one dollar and forty-nine cents.

Sometimes, NervousMan knew, people running for political office would be asked how much a half-gallon of milk was. NervousMan knew. But the prospect of him running for political office was unlikely. NervousMan was too nervous to do anything like that.

NervousMan pulled out something in white butcher paper, a small package. This was NervousMan's pork chop. He opened the butcher's paper gently and looked at it for a few moments.

Then, NervousMan put the milk away.

"Perhaps later, I will take a nap," thought NervousMan. But it was already so late. Too late to take a nap. Perhaps turning in early would be a good idea. There was not much to do tonight.

Actually, there was not much to do any night.

NervousMan took a small sauce pan from his cupboard and even though it had been cleaned, NervousMan washed it again. It didn't matter that the saucepan would be a little wet. The heat from the stove would quickly evaporate any water on it quickly enough. NervousMan wasn't sure about how clean his dishtowel was.

NervousMan put the saucepan on the stove. But not before wiping off the burner with a sponge. Perhaps NervousMan should wash the sponge, he thought. But what would he wash it with? Another sponge? What if that sponge were dirty too?

NervousMan sighed, and switched the water off.

Turning up the heat, NervousMan pulled out from the bag a small tub of Country Crock margarine and sat it down. Then, he got a spoon from the utensil drawer and turned on the hot water, running it underneath.

"I should have washed my hands," thought NervousMan. "But if I washed my hands I would have to set the spoon down, and then I would have to wash the spoon again. And if I touch the unwashed spoon, then I will have to wash my hands once more".

NervousMan frowned.

Maybe it didn't matter, he thought, all of this washing of everything. Maybe it was good to get a few germs inside of him. It would keep his system on its toes, fighting some things off. Practice, NervousMan thought. That way, he would be more ready in case some really big germs came along someday.

But how would NervousMan know when too many germs were enough for him? Would he get sick? Very sick? Who would take care of him if he got sick?

Perhaps NervousMan could call 9-1-1 if he had to. If he got very sick. But this might make his neighbor below him mad. He would laugh at NervousMan as the ambulance took him away.

NervousMan decided to ignore the thoughts to 'wash' everything and anything. Things were clean enough, he thought to himself.

"No more washing", NervousMan thought.

NervousMan opened the lid of the Country Crock margarine. The lid was still cool to the touch having just come from the supermarket's refrigerator. There was some slight moisture on the outside.

Inside the tub, the top of the margarine itself looked as smooth as yellow sand dunes as viewed from a helicopter. Like some machine somewhere had glooped out liquified margarine and filled it up and somehow made these little waves of margarine that were so nice to look at.

In the middle of the waves, was a little curly-que that was pleasant and cute to look at.

Like ice cream coming out of a big nozzle, thought NervousMan. GLOOP!

NervousMan sank the spoon into the design of the margarine and scooped out half a spoonful and put it into the saucepan and it sizzled loudly. NervousMan turned the heat down.

"My head hurts," thought NervousMan and sighed again.

For a moment, NervousMan watched the smooth margarine melt and sizzle in the pan. Grasping it by the handle, and holding it up, NervousMan moved the liquid around until it coated the bottom.

Setting it down again on the burner, NervousMan sighed. Then, he reached for his porkchop.

"I shouldn't wash the porkchop," NervousMan thought. He blinked.

Enough washing, he thought again.

NervousMan put the porkchop into the sizzling margarine in the saucepan and let it cook as he then covered it with the saucepan's cover.

"I am tired," thought NervousMan. The porkchop would give him energy. But, what would he do with the energy? It seemed wrong to just eat and not do anything. Perhaps he could use the calories to think about things.

"Perhaps I should clean the bathroom," thought NervousMan.

No, enough washing, he thought again.

NervousMan turned on the hot water in the sink and ran his hands under the stream. He thought to himself that perhaps he was God, who was asleep, dreaming of running his hands under water which he was also dreaming of.

NervousMan smiled at such a silly notion. And then he reached for the soap.

No, thought NervousMan. No more washing. "I am not washing," he thought. "Just rinsing. That is the difference". NervousMan enjoyed the rich sensation of the water running over his hands.


Later, NervousMan sat on his bed eating his dinner on paper plates. He had made some sweet peas too which he warmed up for one minute in the microwave. NervousMan liked peas.

Paper plates did not need to be washed, thought NervousMan. You could just throw them away. No need to keep them.

What about the environment, thought NervousMan. Were paper plates good for it? But then, how good was using water to wash plates too? And soap? How good was that for the environment? The soapy water had to go somewhere. And eventually, even a real plate would have to be thrown away too. How good was that?

NervousMan cut the meat of the porkchop away from the bone and put it, plain, between two slices of multi-grain wheat bread he had also bought at the store. NervousMan loved the little meal he had made for himself. For a moment, his heart felt full of love. For everything. NervousMan smiled.

NervousMan took another bite of his sandwich.

"Perhaps I am God," said NervousMan to himself, quietly, so his mean neighbor would not hear. And he chuckled. "But this all depends on how one THINKS of God. You know? I mean... what is God anyway? I could say that I am God but, only in the sense everyone else is too. Maybe that's how it is. Maybe we all are. Just us. Every living thing".

NervousMan listened to a lone cricket singing somewhere in the night outside his window. He blinked and smiled slightly and thought about these ideas more as he stared at his wall, alone in his room, eating his porkchop sandwich.