Girl Scout Cookies and Entropy
The ultimate fate of the universe is entropy. Cold, dark, with little light from the last remnants of the corpses which once illuminated the skies and captivated the minds of any being who laid eyes on it. The universe exhales one last time, letting go of the elementary particles that were the lifeforce of everything in her. Succumbing to the immense chaos that is self-imposed, her whirling mind is silenced for eternity.
It’s interesting that we as humans are in the prime time to experience what is the golden age of star formation. It’s always been there, moving from east to west, providing us with details about our past and our future. One can easily take it for granted.
Like how I expected Girl Scout Cookies to stay the same price as they were when I was selling them.
Look.
It’s cold. And windy. A whopping 35 degrees Fahrenheit can be brought down to a chilling 26 degrees if the wind decides to sprint a marathon past you.
So I go up. I buy my cookies. I’m expecting Thin Mints, but it doesn’t look like they have any left in the boxes behind their foldable plastic table (it turns out that they do–I just don’t ask). As someone who loves when February rolls around exclusively for my American Girl Guides buddies, I (of course) buy a box.
I was not expecting it to be $6 when I have $3.50 already typed into my Venmo account. And it’s not as if these girls don’t know what they’re doing. I know they have their script down.
So I strike up a conversation with the universe to clarify what exactly this calamity is. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to visualize her, her mass so overwhelming that I’m forced to imagine our discussion somewhere that is the exact opposite of her being: absolutely nothing.
“Hello Universe,” I start. I say it outward in an open field. Though I know I’m not the center of the universe, the cosmological constant states that the universe is homogeneous and isotropic, meaning that, while there is technically no center, one could propose that I could be the center of the universe in this instance.
The universe does not respond. If we are to go along with a more academic approach to this imaginary philosophical conversation, this would make sense, as the universe has no real voice. It can only really speak through our human understanding of physics and the math behind the various forces of our universe. But even then, Newtonian Mechanics break down in the presence of a black hole.
“The universe, while destined for entropy, must be somewhat in balance,” I begin, as one does when approaching an argument that one thinks they can win.
“Where did you get that assumption?” she asks.
“Gravity keeps the planets in orbit, and the strong force is what keeps the subatomic particles that encompass you and I together. Otherwise, it would be a calamity, or cease to exist.”
“But is the absence of existence not considered balance?” she counters.
I sit, thinking for a moment. “I suppose not. But it would be quite inconvenient if it was. The Earth has seasons and cycles. That is an example of the universe providing balance. We are currently trying to fight against nature to take more than what Gaea can give, leading to our own demise and self-destruction.”
“If Earth was lost, nothing would happen.”
“One of the only forms of life to possibly ever exist in the universe may be erased.”
She shrugs. “Life was merely by chance, as all things are. The conditions were just right for life to unfold, as there was just enough matter to overcome the annihilation in a split-second war that antimatter participated in. That is the only way you are here today with me, young one.” She cautiously eyes me. “Now, what are you really asking in your philosophical meanderings? You’re wasting my time.”
“You are time. You are infinite.”
“And you are rude.”
I sigh. “So, Universe, tell me this: if the universe is in balance–like, truly in balance–then why the hell did I pay $6 for Girl Scout Cookies? They’re not even the special kind of cookies. They’re Tagalongs. Tag. A. Longs. I didn’t go premium because I wanted my $3.50 cookie.” I place my hand on my hip. “When I was trying to sell those cookies in front of a Publix in 2012, I knew that they were $3.50. So…why?”
“Inflation?”
Of course, the universe would know inflation best.
“Everything’s due to inflation. That’s what they cite for eggs too: ‘It’s because of inflation and the avian flu.’ But if the avian flu has led to the death of so many birds that it has caused a drastic drop in supply with a constant demand, then why is chicken so cheap?”
“My dear, those chickens do not lay eggs. If they did, then you wouldn’t have an issue of egg prices going up.”
Well, that plan fell through.
“Fine. What do you suggest we do then?”
“What, do you expect me to understand how economics works?”
“If I don’t, then you must!”
She scoffs.
“Those are such human concepts. There is no such thing as money in the grand scheme of things. There is only the payment of time in the act of acting.” She looks down through the clouds. “And it sounds as if you have wasted your time buying those Girl Scout cookies.”
“Well,” I huff, “I’d like it back.”
“Why?” She smirks. “You gave money in exchange for a product. They received joy, and you, instead, received frustration. It seems like quite a balance, doesn’t it?”
And then, she diffuses into the field itself.
I stare at where she once was, the place where it was impossible to form the entire being of a cosmological realm on one random field.
The air is silent as I listen to the wind whip my hair around, the biting cold reminding me to bring warmer clothes.
Opening my eyes once more, I look out at the now desolate street, the golden streetlight above me shining down on my opened box of tagalogs. I slowly open the box, sliding out the plastic cookie tray, only to find empty spaces where my Tagalongs once were.
I sigh.
“I ate them all already.”
