It's Physical
by Tiffany H.
White
February 1933: The Savoy
Hotel, London, England. Renowned physicists Bohr,
Curie, Einstein, Goeppert, Heisenberg, Plank
& Oppenheimer attend a
clandestine meeting of minds at the
urgent request of the Committee for Imperial
Defence. No one knows why.
“You look radiant, Marie,
positively glowing!” Einstein lied as
Curie took her place.
“In a relative
way perhaps.” she sighed “Time takes
its toll on us all mon cher.”
“As does gravity.”
Plank agreed “Still, we can’t turn back
the clock.”
“Hvorfor prøver vi
ikke?” suggested Bohr but no one
understood a single word and an uncomfortable
silence fell.
Oppenheimer saved the day.
“A Manhattan, I think. Anyone
else care to join me?” Einstein, Plank
and Bohr said they would.
“Me too! Or three!”
Goeppert giggled as she finally arrived with a
heavy burden of bags from Harrods. Curie winced
when Heisenberg ordered a bottle of Chateau
La Tour 1914 and ordered the ’18 for herself..
After the Manhattans they all tried Depth
Bombs but the Whizz-Bangs weren’t
so good.
Goeppert was being rather
immodest with maraschino cherries:
Curie addressed the chit with disdain
“I don’t believe we’ve been
introduced.”
“I’m Maria! And
you’re Marie! I love your hat!”
“How noble.”
Curie dismissed her and turned to Bohr.
“And young Schrodinger? What of him?”
“Maybe late, maybe not.
Dunno.” Bohr didn’t care either
way. “Mix mat. Max might. Hic.”
It was a splendid dinner, with post-prandial
drinks and the illustrious group were on fire.
They found the solution to all that was wrong
with the world. Humanity saved by one simple
equation carefully worked out on multiple
cocktail napkins. A new and better
Eden awaits. “Celibate. Shampoo.”
Heisenberg slurred; the champagne was
served with a silver platter bearing
a smug envelope containing an extortionate demand.
Too many numbers; not enough space. Einstein went
giddy and nearly passed out.
“Just split it between
us, Al.”
“No way, JR. You had
lobster so how it that fair?”
“Charge the whole lot
to Erwin’s account. Hic.”
“But Schrodinger
isn’t here, mon cheer.”
“Isn’t he? How
can we be sure? Hic.”
“I lost my cherry.
Where’s it?”
“These numbers
don’t add up, Max. Max? Max?”
“He’s out for the
count, Neils.”
“Less have a go; soon
work it out.”
“Pass this to Marie,
Big W….. no, the other one.”
“Merci, mon cher.”
“Is my cherry? Yay!”
“Ah! Salope stupide!
Vin rouge partout!”
“Oh mercies! Let’s
mop that up…”
“NOT THE NAPKINS!”
The cry was unanimous but too late: the new world
order dissolved into soggy pulp with a little
whine. It happens.
Churchill strolled up to
the crestfallen group. “Close, but no cigar.
You can leave the bill with me.” He left
with a definite smirk.
Another prize idiot Schrodinger
thought as he stole the leftover lobster for his
cat.
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