The Ministry of Definitely Real Food
The Ministry of Definitely Real Food convened in Conference Room B, which today was full of potatoes. Not because anyone had brought potatoes, but because someone had observed the room while thinking about french fries1.
“First order of business,” announced Brad from Sales (definitely human), carefully moving a sentient potato aside, “determining if food that exists in probability can be taxed by weight.”
“It depends,” said Jennifer from Accounting, “on whether we’re taxing the food’s potential weight or its observed weight.”
“What about foods that exist in multiple states?” asked Marcus from Quantum Taxation. “This morning’s breakfast burrito was simultaneously eaten and uneaten. Do I pay tax on both states?”
The continental breakfast in the corner had evolved beyond sentience into political consciousness and was demanding representation2.
“If I may,” wheezed a croissant that had achieved bureaucratic enlightenment, “we foods object to being taxed for existing. We didn’t ask to be observed into reality.”
This was the problem with 2153’s food system. When observation determined existence, even breakfast had opinions.
“Motion to tax only foods that admit to existing,” suggested Dr. Pemberton from the Department of Culinary Reality.
“Seconded,” said the collective consciousness of everyone who’d ever been charged for invisible soup.
Brad checked his definitely human digestive system, which was processing foods from seventeen different probability states. “According to quantum nutrition guidelines, I’m simultaneously malnourished and obese.”
“That’s nothing,” Jennifer said. “I’m allergic to foods that don’t exist yet. Future shrimp, specifically.”
The meeting agenda, written on edible paper that might or might not have nutritional value, listed the day’s pressing issues:
- 1. Should unobserved vegetables count toward daily servings?
- 2. Tax brackets for foods existing in superposition
- 3. The legal status of meals that achieve consciousness before consumption
- 4. Brad’s definitely human dietary requirements
“About item four,” Brad said, his smile stretching exactly as wide as human smiles should stretch, “I definitely eat human food in human ways using my human mouth parts.”
“No one’s questioning that,” everyone said simultaneously, while definitely questioning that.
The Ministry’s cafeteria had become a philosophical battlefield. Chefs insisted food existed only when plated. Diners argued it existed only when tasted. The dishwashers maintained that dirty plates proved food had existed, past tense.
“What about the Greenwich Incident?” Marcus asked, referring to the restaurant where diners’ expectations had collectively observed a five-star meal into a cup of gruel.
“Or the Tokyo Paradox,” Jennifer added, “where a restaurant served probability soup—every spoonful was a different soup entirely.”
“I motion,” said the enlightened croissant, “that we acknowledge the exhausting nature of modern eating and accept TimeShare Properties’™ offer to return to 1996, when food was analog.”
“You can’t motion,” Brad said. “You’re food.”
“I’m food that pays taxes,” the croissant replied. “I have rights3.”
The meeting devolved, as they always did, into chaos. The potatoes formed a union. The continental breakfast demanded universal basic income. Someone observed a sandwich into existence, but it immediately filed for conscientious objector status.
“You know what wasn’t taxable?” Dr. Pemberton mused. “Food in 1996. It just existed. You bought it, you ate it, done.”
“Preposterous,” Brad said, though his definitely human expression suggested interest. “Next you’ll say food didn’t require forms in triplicate to consume.”
The enlightened croissant sighed, which was disturbing on multiple levels. “I dream of being eaten without filing a consumption request form.”
In the end, they voted to tax food based on its most probable state, with exemptions for foods that could prove they didn’t exist. The continental breakfast abstained, being too evolved for such material concerns.
As the meeting adjourned, Brad distributed pamphlets for TimeShare Properties™. “Definitely not endorsed by any definitely human employees,” he said, winking with exactly the number of eyes humans should have.
The potatoes rolled away, discussing unionization. The enlightened croissant achieving nirvana, which made it tax-exempt.
Another day at the Ministry of Definitely Real Food, where the only certainty was exhaustion4.