"But how did you get there in the first place then?"
"Easy. I got a lift with a teaser."
"A teaser?"
"Yeah."
"Er, what is . . ."
"A teaser? Teasers are usually rich kids with nothing to do. They cruise around looking for planets that haven't made interstellar contact yet and buzz them."
"Buzz them?" Arthur began to feel that Ford was enjoying making life difficult for him.
"Yeah," said Ford, "they buzz them. They find some isolated spot with very few people around, then land right by some poor unsuspecting soul whom no one's ever going to believe and then strut up and down in front of him wearing silly antennas on their head and making beep beep noises. Rather childish really." Ford leaned back on the mattress with his hands behind his head and looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
"Ford," insisted Arthur, "I don't know if this sounds like a silly question, but what am I doing here?"
"Well, you know that," said Ford. "I rescued you from the Earth."
"And what's happened to the Earth?"
"Ah, it's been demolished."
"Has it," said Arthur levelly.
"Yes. It just boiled away into space."
"Look," said Arthur. "I'm a bit upset about that."
Ford frowned to himself and seemed to roll the thought around his mind.
"Yes. I can understand that," he said at last.
"Understand that!" shouted Arthur. "Understand that!"
Ford sprang up.
"Keep looking at the book!" he hissed urgently.
"What?"
"Don't Panic."
"I'm not panicking!"
"Yes, you are."
"All right, so I'm panicking, what else is there to do?"
"You just come along with me and have a good time. The Galaxy's a fun place. You'll need to have this fish in your ear."
"I beg your pardon?" asked Arthur, rather politely he thought.
I understand Arthur Dent's need for panic. His whole life has suddenly changed. His home planet is gone. He's just realized that there really are green men from outer space. His only lifeline is a friend who has turned out to be an interstellar travel writer. I'd be panicking, too.
However, I tend to panic a lot. For instance, this morning, I panicked when I looked at my alarm clock and realized that I had a half hour more to sleep. Most people would be happy at this discovery. Me? I lay in bed, mind racing, thinking of everything that I had to do today. I didn't go back to sleep.
Then, I panicked when I got to the medical office and saw all the boxes that were packed or still needed to be packed. You may not believe what I'm about to tell you: I'm kind of neurotic about everything being neat and orderly. I pride myself on that at work. For the last two weeks, nothing has been neat and orderly, and it makes me very, very anxious.
Throughout the day, I suffered from a low-grade panic. It just sort of simmered beneath the surface all morning and afternoon as I tossed and discarded items and witnessed the office becoming more and more undone. I think I hid my unease and sadness well, though. Only once did I have to step away to regain control of my feelings.
And now, I'm panicking again. Yesterday, my television simply decided to stop working. I'm not sure what's wrong with it, but I have a sinking feeling that it is toast. Burned toast . . .
And my friend, Seamus, just came over to check out my TV. He kind of works with electronics for a living. He fiddled with remotes. Looked stuff up on his iPhone. Pushed some buttons. Then he gave me his expert opinion: "Yeah, it's toast." Panic.
Tomorrow afternoon, you will be able to find my at Walmart, wandering through the electronics section, looking for the biggest television I can find for the cheapest price. I'll be the guy with a panicked look on his face, muttering, "Can I get a poet discount?"
It's only Tuesday, and Saint Marty is already done for the week.
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