Bathroom Monologue: Happiest Man in the World

He exists above zen and above sea level. Like every cynic suggested, the happiest man in the world exists alone, with no contact to disturb him from the way that works. Some will say, and I’ll swear to it, that he’s so tranquil his heart hasn’t beat in the nine years anyone’s known him. He is simply the happiest face you can see.

You want to meet him? He’s up that mountain. No, the one behind it. The very tallest one that still has trees at the apex. You go up its winding path. You disobey the signs and climb seventy feet of sheer rock. There you’ll find a few beer cans and weeds conquering the last successful campsite up there. That’s when you know you’re on your way.

Go through the brush, through the poison ivy. Beware the bear traps hidden beneath years of pine needles – I believe a few are still unsprung. He did not plant these problems, but they’re the closest thing to a trail you’ll find. He’s left no candy wrappers or fire wood. No tent. In the nine years anyone’s known him, he hasn’t even owned a scrap of underwear.

If you wander enough without getting split open or covered in hives, you’ll find an outcropping. A slender tree has split the rocks and is growing right towards the heavens. What you’ll want to do is take a firm hold on this tree and circle around, careful of your footing. If it’s like it was last time I visited you’ll barely have room for your toes. Now you circle on around, sliding your hands up the trunk. You slide them up so you can see the carving.

There it should be. A circle, with two equidistant dots near the top, and a crescent swooping down near the bottom. That’s the smiley face of the happiest man in the world. Hasn’t changed his expression in nine years. Like every cynic suggested, the happiest man in the world isn’t real. He sure is consistent, though.