The Compression Safety Manual
Safety Inspector Mulligan¹ hefted the newly updated Compression Safety Manual, all 47,000 pages of it, and wondered if anyone had considered the safety implications of a manual so dense it had its own gravitational field.
“Right then, Bert,” he said to the compression operator, who was currently existing in two places at once due to a minor workplace accident². “Let’s go through the new safety protocols.”
“Can’t we just compress the manual?” Bert suggested. “Make it smaller?”
“Section 15,473, subsection J explicitly forbids compressing safety documentation. Apparently, the last crew that tried it ended up with instructions that existed in all possible states, including several where Step 1 was ‘Achieve enlightenment’ and Step 2 was ‘Abandon hope.’”
Bert sighed with both his bodies. “What’s the first rule then?”
Mulligan opened to page one. “’Before operating compression equipment, ensure you exist in baseline reality.’ How do we check that?”
“Form C-777,” Bert said automatically. “Reality Verification Checklist. Takes about three hours to fill out, assuming you don’t get stuck on question 47.”
“What’s question 47?”
“’Are you currently filling out this form?’ If you answer yes, you have to fill out Form C-778 to verify you’re aware you’re filling out Form C-777. It’s recursive.”
Mulligan flipped through more pages. “Here’s a good one. ‘Warning: Compressing consciousness may lead to enlightenment, existential dread, or Tuesday.’”
“Why Tuesday?”
“Footnote says³ it’s the most philosophically neutral day. Monday implies beginning, Friday implies ending, but Tuesday? Tuesday just is.”
They moved to the actual compression floor, where warning signs had multiplied like quantum rabbits. “CAUTION: COMPRESSED SPACE MAY CONTAIN MORE SPACE THAN SPACE CONTAINS.” “WARNING: OBJECTS IN COMPRESSION FIELD ARE EXACTLY AS LARGE AS THEY APPEAR, BUT IN MORE DIMENSIONS.” “DANGER: THINKING ABOUT COMPRESSION RATIOS MAY CAUSE COMPRESSION RATIOS.”
“That last one’s new,” Bert noted.
“Had three workers last week compress themselves just by doing the math too hard,” Mulligan explained. “Now we have mandatory cognitive compression breaks. Every two hours, workers must think about something uncompressible.”
“Like what?”
“Company suggests employee satisfaction. Can’t compress something that doesn’t exist.”⁴
Bert’s dual existence snorted in stereo. “What about the emergency protocols?”
Mulligan found section 34,291. “In case of reality cascade failure, remain calm and remember that panic exists in all dimensions simultaneously, making it inefficient. Follow standard evacuation procedure unless you’re already compressed, in which case you’re technically already at all evacuation points.”
“Helpful.”
“Oh, here’s my favorite. ‘If you encounter your compressed self from an alternate timeline, do not engage in conversation about compression safety. Paradoxes are not covered by worker’s compensation.’”
A klaxon sounded. Someone on Floor 6 had achieved accidental enlightenment while compressing sewage. The cleanup would require Forms E-901 through E-967, plus a philosophical debate about whether enlightened sewage was still sewage or had transcended its essential nature.
“You know what the real joke is?” Bert said, his two forms finally syncing into one. “All these safety rules, all these warnings, and the biggest danger isn’t the compression at all.”
“No?”
“It’s that we keep using it anyway. Like those old warnings on cigarettes. ‘This will kill you in ways we haven’t invented words for yet.’ And everyone just shrugs and compresses another asteroid.”
Mulligan closed the manual, its weight threatening to compress the floor beneath it. “Well, that’s health and safety for you. We’re not here to stop the apocalypse. We’re just here to make sure everyone’s wearing proper protective equipment when it happens.”
“Speaking of which,” Bert said, “my PPE request for existence-stabilizing boots has been in processing for six months.”
“They’re probably still trying to figure out what size infinity comes in,” Mulligan replied. “I’ll file a Form F-888: Request to Expedite Request for Safety Equipment Required to Safely Request Safety Equipment.”
They went back to work, surrounded by impossible machinery doing impossible things to reality itself. But at least they were doing it safely.
Or at least, documenting exactly how unsafely they were doing it.
Which, in the grand bureaucracy of the universe, amounted to the same thing.