The Happy Moron

Have you ever seen Wall-E?

You know, the movie with the adorable, heartfelt, noble little robot? The one who falls in love with a girl robot who’s too advanced for him and too powerful for him?

The little guy who is overmatched and outgunned by the big world around him, but who doesn’t know it and who doesn’t see it because he only knows and only sees what he has to do?

Pixar got it right. They nailed the pathos exactly.

I have a Wall-E in my life.

It’s a paper-towel dispenser. Let’s call him Tear-E (Terry!) You’re supposed to wave your hand in front of him to get a paper towel.  And so you do that, and Terry spits out a paper towel. Zzzzzt. That’s what Terry says – Zzzzzt. Here’s your paper towel.

And so you reach out and tear off the piece of paper towel that Terry gave you. Thank you, Terry.

And Terry sees that your hand moved again and gives you another piece. Zzzzzt.

But you don’t need that one; you already have one. So you dry your hands and walk out of the bathroom leaving Terry all alone with that unwanted, pre-dispensed piece of paper towel.

It’s hard to know how to react to Terry. At first I was tempted to get angry, to call Terry stupid and to blame his creator.

Then I tried to be distainful. I wanted to distance myself from Terry. What a piece of junk! Pathetic!

But recently I’ve had a change of heart. As pitiful as Terry is, with his little stretch of unsolicited towel dangling uselessly out, he’s just that: pitiful. I can’t bring myself to tell him that his gift is “surplus to requirements”.  I can’t tell him he’s a failure.

Because in the end, he’s just a little guy who doesn’t know anything about the world around him. He has no idea how much bigger than him it is.

Terry sits in the restroom as the people rush past. Busy people, important people. Self absorbed people, people focused on the size and complexity of the world around them. We run in and out, and each one of us is in some way overwhelmed by the world. We’re all reacting to it, trying to handle it.

Terry can’t solve all our problems. They’re so big that if Terry could see them he’d never spit out another piece of paper towel again – he’d say, “What’s the use?” and install himself behind a bar somewhere.

But Terry doesn’t see that, Terry doesn’t know that. All Terry can do to help us is to go, “Zzzzzt.”

Zzzzzt.

He only sees, only knows, what it is he must do. And he does it. (Twice every time!)

Zzzzzt.

Thank you, Terry.