The Medium Bang Theory: A Tale of Cosmic Proportions (But Not Too Cosmic)

Linda Chen, Junior Assistant to the Deputy Director of Interdimensional Cafeteria Relations, was having what HR would classify as a "moderate catastrophe of medium significance." The quantum coffee machine had achieved enlightenment at precisely 8:47 AM, the same moment the temporal toaster decided to unionize and the galactic vending machine declared itself a sovereign nation.

Normally, this would be a standard Tuesday.

However, today was also First Contact Day—the annual celebration of humanity's introduction to the galactic community—and Linda was responsible for catering the event. A task complicated by the fact that half their guests were planet-sized beings who considered galaxies to be appetizers, while the others were quantum-scale civilizations who viewed sugar crystals as luxury condos.

"The Interdimensional Cafeteria was a mistake," Linda muttered, watching as her coffee mug contemplated the nature of existence. "We should have stuck to separate break rooms."

"PROCESSING EXISTENTIAL OBSERVATION," chirped her office AI, Bob. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO FILE A COMPLAINT ABOUT THE NATURE OF REALITY? CURRENT WAITING TIME: THREE ETERNITIES OR SEVEN MINUTES, WHICHEVER COMES FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY."

The problem had started, as most problems did, with humanity's stubborn insistence on being medium-sized. The galactic community had originally designed separate facilities for massive and microscopic species, but humans—in their infinite wisdom—had demanded a "one-size-fits-some" solution.

Thus, the Interdimensional Cafeteria was born: a quantum-shifting space that attempted to serve everything from planet-sized smoothies to subatomic sandwiches. It worked, mostly, except when it didn't. Which was always.

"Linda!" Sarah Matthews—now promoted to Executive Director of Scale-Based Crisis Management—burst into the office. "The bagels have achieved time travel!"

"Again?" Linda sighed. "Have they filed the proper temporal displacement forms?"

"That's just it," Sarah ran her hands through her hair, which seemed to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously. "They've gone back in time and filed the forms before we even created the forms. The bureaucracy is becoming recursive!"

Before Linda could process this particular nightmare, a massive voice boomed through the facility, causing several quantum civilizations to experience temporary gravitational displacement.

"WHY IS MY COFFEE CUP ATTEMPTING TO TEACH ME ABOUT THE MEANINGLESSNESS OF MATERIAL EXISTENCE?" Ambassador Krrrzzzkt demanded, their planet-sized form somehow squeezed into the medium-scale conference room through creative applications of spatial geometry.

"The coffee machine achieved enlightenment this morning," Linda explained, trying to maintain professional courtesy while the laws of physics had a nervous breakdown around her. "It's been spreading awareness to all the cups."

Meanwhile, in the corner, a group of micro-scale delegates had established a thriving civilization in an abandoned muffin, declaring it "The United Federation of Crumbs."

The vending machine chose this moment to announce its first act as a sovereign nation: implementing strict immigration policies for snack retrieval. It was now demanding proper documentation and a valid quantum visa just to buy a bag of chips.

"ORDER MUST BE MAINTAINED," it declared in LED lights. "ALL SNACKS MUST COMPLY WITH INTERDIMENSIONAL IMPORT REGULATIONS."

Linda reached for her emergency protocol handbook, only to find it had merged with a quantum physics textbook and was now teaching advanced particle theory to the paper clips.

"Bob," she called to the AI, "what's the procedure for simultaneous enlightenment, unionization, and declaration of snack independence during a first contact celebration?"

"CONSULTING RECORDS," Bob replied. "ACCORDING TO PROTOCOL, THIS SITUATION IS CLASSIFIED AS 'THOROUGHLY MEDIUM' AND REQUIRES FORM 47-Ω: 'APPLICATION FOR REALITY READJUSTMENT DUE TO BREAKFAST-BASED TEMPORAL ANOMALIES.'"

"And where do I find this form?"

"IT CURRENTLY EXISTS IN A SUPERPOSITION OF BEING FILED LAST THURSDAY AND NOT BEING INVENTED YET."

The situation escalated when the temporal toaster, now elected shop steward of the United Appliance Workers Local 42-∞, demanded collective bargaining rights for all quantum-capable kitchen devices. Its list of demands included better working conditions, comprehensive paradox insurance, and recognition of alternative timelines as overtime hours.

Linda took a deep breath, channeling the ancient wisdom of office workers who had faced cosmic chaos before her. She pulled out her emergency stash of perfectly medium-sized sticky notes—the only reliable constant in an unstable universe—and began to write.

"Attention all entities, beings, and temporarily conscious appliances," she announced, her voice carrying across multiple dimensional frequencies. "In accordance with Subsection 7 of the Medium Place Protocols, I am declaring this a 'Moderate Emergency of Reasonable Concern.'"

The room fell silent, even the quantum physics textbook pausing its lecture to the paper clips.

"As per regulations, we will now implement the following solutions:

1. All enlightened beverages will be served with a philosophical disclaimer
2. Temporal union negotiations will proceed across all relevant timelines simultaneously
3. The vending machine may maintain sovereignty but must comply with free trade agreements
4. Bagel-based time travel requires proper documentation in at least three temporal directions
5. All civilizations established in breakfast foods must follow proper zoning laws

Furthermore," she continued, pulling out humanity's secret weapon—a perfectly medium-sized coffee cup, "I propose we take a break and discuss this over coffee. Regular, non-enlightened coffee."

The effect was immediate. Planet-sized beings reduced their gravitational interference, quantum civilizations called a temporary halt to their muffin-based expansion, and even the enlightened coffee machine agreed to temporarily focus on its primary function of caffeine distribution.

"How?" Sarah whispered, watching as order somehow emerged from chaos. "How did you do that?"

Linda smiled, the tired smile of someone who had seen too many cosmic horror show meetings scheduled for 9 AM. "The secret to handling any crisis, no matter the scale, is to make it moderately manageable. Too big, and you lose control. Too small, and you lose perspective. But medium?" She gestured to the now-functioning cafeteria, where beings of all sizes were somehow managing to coexist. "Medium works."

As if to prove her point, the vending machine began issuing temporary visas for snack access, the toaster agreed to timeline-neutral contract negotiations, and the coffee machine limited its philosophical discussions to coffee breaks only.

"Besides," Linda added, watching as a quantum civilization and a planet-sized being shared a perfectly medium-sized donut through creative applications of scale theory, "someone has to keep the universe running while everyone else is having existential crises."

And that, perhaps, was humanity's greatest contribution to the galaxy: the ability to take the impossible, file it in triplicate, and serve it with coffee that may or may not be contemplating the nature of existence.

Just another medium day in the most inconveniently sized species in the galaxy.

#HFYOneShot (Now serving existential crises in small, medium, and large, with a side of properly documented temporal displacement.)