Sitting and Thinking is Absolutely Free

Find the Meaning of Life for a Low Low Price

Heaven May Be a Place Where Not Much Happens

Cheap Dude lay on the floor of the beat up trailer where his two youngest sons lived in happy squalor. He’d spent the prior day repairing a water leak, and insulating windows with clear plastic and duct tape. North winds whistled down the mountain most of the winter, every little defense helped. He was in heaven.

It had started near the beginning of his 12 hour night shift. They had called him at work, a water leak had sprung from somewhere and slithered under the stove and ‘fridge to the carpeted hallway. Great. They had little plumbing know-how, and no tools, so call Cheap Dad.

He’d slammed the phone down, already half crazy from sleep deprivation, but perhaps a little happy too. He had a reason to visit. Too cheap to visit just to visit.

Was this why you had kids? For a chance to play god to lesser humans? For companions who would always let you in? He wondered, now that they were grown, what possessed otherwise sane people to bring new humans onto the planet, out of nothing but passion. What right did anyone have to drag others into this mess?

But somewhere in his Caveman Soul, he warmed at the thought of seeing them. Sometimes this selfish joy was all he had, as he fought his way through endless work days and home repairs. He loved them, whatever that meant.

He had managed to sleep a little at work, “power-naps” they called it, at his desk. At one point he had even pulled a less-dirty “safety rug” into a dim corner of his “department,” and slept hard for half an hour, shop rags wadded into a pillow. The rugs were thin but still better than cold concrete.

(Safety rugs were set throughout the facility to prevent slippage, or something. Each was decorated with a safety-promoting slogan and cartoon. The one he slept on read “Don’t Gamble With Safety,” with a giant pair of dice. Truly great advice; gamble with mathematical precision, or reckless abandon, otherwise it’s not gambling.)

Sleep was a firing offense, of course. But any night shift grunt who claims they never sleep on the job is a liar. Sometimes your mind just dragged you down, and you didn’t realize it until a few seconds later when you dropped your wrench or pencil and woke up. The guys that ran the loaders and haul trucks would kill someone if they didn’t power-nap on night shift.

Plus there was that little thrill of the savage burn to your employer, they were paying you to sleep, haha! The Corporate Office couldn’t possibly authorize sleeping on the job (yes they could, of course.) Better for everyone to pretend no one slept no matter how much they did, when the alternative was possible Equipment Damage.

After work he made a fire to warm the house a little, and had another short nap. Then gathered tools, sleeping bag, warm clothes, a thermos full of coffee, and drove north in his old van. Coffee, what a wonderful legal drug, it would get him through another day with little sleep. No matter how sick his sleepless brain, he knew all he had to do was keep going, one foot in front of the other. How he felt about it was mostly irrelevant.

After the hugs and howdys, he ranted briefly about how they needed to pay more attention, don’t wait until your hallway is a river to wonder if you have a water leak. “We know.” Your kids always know, but that’s it. You should pick this place up a little, and do these dishes. “We know.”

He spent the next couple hours taking the offending faucet apart. Turns out it had never been properly installed, screws to hold it in place were missing. The screws were 11 cents each, so total outlay for the repair job was 22 cents. Plus the couple hours sprawled, contorted, and dribbled on, under the sink. When done, the thrill of victory, man over machine, mitigated the inconvenience.

The rest of the day was spent wringing water out of the hallway carpet, and duct-taping of plastic over windows. Cheap insulation. And a three hour nap on the couch.

The rotten old couch was too broke down to sleep on for long. That night he shoved dirty clothes, video game detritus, and electrical cords out of the way to make a place for his sleeping bag on the floor. One end of the trailer was dry at least.

He woke early, still dark, his sleep rhythm bass-ackwards as always, and lay for a long time. Nothing to do but let his twisted mind wander.

Over the years, his mind had done much wandering. He had distilled what little he knew into a catchy slogan, which he considered his philosophy: Work Hard, Play Hard, and Be Nice.

Hard Work had got him out of many a hopeless predicament. When life sucked, you could either whine about it and retreat, or attack with everything you had. Broken transmissions, doorknobs, relationships; purposeful work might not solve everything but you had the satisfaction of knowing you by god tried your hardest. (The sons’ way was middle ground: whine while attacking fitfully.)

Good Hard Play was just as exhausting, but this one life was all you had right now, no matter how certain anyone was of an afterlife. Too many were too busy, trying to pay for all the useless crap they thought they needed, to have much fun. But people had died in wars to keep the dream alive, the least we could do is enjoy it sometimes.

Cheap Dude had two main forms of play: Exercise, and Nothing. His Caveman Mind enjoyed moving dirt, tending plants, and long walks in the nearby semi-wilderness. Doing Nothing was more difficult, there were always “so many things to do.” So the mornings he could lie in darkness and let his mind wander were precious. If there was an afterlife, it would be like this: dark, quiet, and nothing to do. Resting intently.

“Be Nice” was a concise distillation of his many years trying to decipher religion. Under the mountains of taught guilt, shameless hucksterism, mind control, and outright lies, was a kernel of hidden goodness. Take all the Holy Books, edit them down to the Main Theme, and there it was: Be Nice. Simple, but not always easy.

Today there was nothing “important” to do, just the regular stuff. Take care of your own, and breathe in and out. His grown babies would be waking soon. They would talk and laugh. There was a heaven, and it was right here, right now.

Later he made them pancakes, and they were darn near as happy as when they were little. The best things in life are not free. In fact, nothing is free. But some good things came at a low low price. He figured the pancakes at about a nickel each.