by Scott Legg
An Humerous Essay on the disapperance of socks and what can be done about it
| If I Ruled The World By Scott Wesley Legg
If I was to rule the world for one day, I wouldn't try and have a lofty aim like world peace and curing starvation. Indeed those are noble causes; unfortunately, they will require much more time and can’t be cured in one day. I would love to be wrong, although it seems to be outta reach in my amount of time. Instead, I would settle for a slightly more attainable goal. Don't poke fun at my lack of vision or failure to tackle the big issues. My goal has nothing to do with searching for "Weapons of Mass Destruction" or global warming although my goal, does however, affect the lives of every man, woman and child on this earth. Well, those that wear socks at least. I would use my power as supreme leader to invent a washing machine and dryer that do not lose one of the socks each time you do laundry. We can put a man on the moon, send a satellite into another galaxy, even allows K. Fed to produce an album; surely it isn't beyond us to build a better washing machine? The current state of our laundry situation on a global scale has got me worried. I'm starting to feel like the Professor from Gilligan's Island is control of everything. The man could build a radio out of coconuts but he couldn't fix a hole in a boat? Now, I can't put the entire blame on Maytag, Samsung, or any other appliance corporation for the state of this mess. I know it is their machines that are causing these strange disappearances, it's not like we, as a society, are doing enough to prevent it, or find answers to solve it. On any given laundry day, a person will retrieve their laundry and drop it on the bed, the floor, anywhere they chose, and begin the folding and putting away process. Now, I'm not saying that socks can walk away or anything like it, but it might be possible. I mean, I can take a photo with my phone, what is to stop a sock from walking away? For the realists among you, I will rule out this point, but only against my better judgment. You hang up your shirts, fold your pants, put your unmentionables away and start to pair up your socks. This is when the pain and horror set in. You have one left. You don't even know what foot it belongs to, unless you buy those weird socks with toes. And is there anything more depressing than the sight of one sock, alone, scared, laying on your bed or in your laundry basket? The sock knows there isn't much hope for him. Sure, another one of his friends may go missing and he won't be surplus to requirements anymore, but his partner, the other sock that came through the factory with him, spent those long days holding their breath as they sat in plastic wrapping together, is gone forever. And how do you repay him? You discard him, and abandon looking for his friend, his partner, for all we know, his lover. And I will no longer hear the sobs of sad mate-less socks. What do we do, really, to find these missing socks? We trace our steps back to the laundry room and look, only on the floor and in the machines until we are certain that the sock is gone. Well, that's just not good enough. If I was a sock, alone, away from my partner and my fellow clothing friends, I'd want to run and hide, seek some kind of refuge from the house pets, the vacuum, and dust bunnies. A large house can be intimidating to a lone sock. If I was a sock I would want somewhere to go. I would want a house of refuge, and safe-haven where I could be with others like me. If we can have compounds for people of like races in foreign countries, why can't we have missing sock safe houses? That would be my next step. I'd fix the machines, and then I'd set up safe houses for all the missing socks, because, we both know, some socks will still choose to walk away on their own. This facility would be open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, but would not be open on February 29th of the Leap years because that would just be silly. I would have doormen, armed with fabric softener, maybe some thread, and heating pads to make these wayward socks feel comfortable and wanted. People could come, no appointment necessary, and search through our database of missing socks living under our roof. This would be a place where dreams could come true again and a place where tears of joy led to heartwarming stories. This would be a place that would lift the spirit of man. But I wouldn't let it stand there, oh no, not me. When I put my mind to things I see them through. In the Wild West we had "Wanted" posters in the post office; I would institute "Missing Sock" posters in Laundromats. Each Laundromat would be "policed" by a sock expert, possibly someone who has used them as puppets (socks would appreciate a cleaner less stinky home for a minute or two) to keep an eye on dastardly socks, and to keep them calm and talk them out of any potential misdemeanors. And, because, like it or not, we live in an elitist society, the lucky few who can afford such charities can advertise on detergent boxes any missing socks. If it is okay to have a picture of a missing child on a milk cartoon, it is certainly not out of order to have a photo of a missing sock on a box of Tide. So that is my plan. I doubt it will make the world a safer place, but it will keep both of your feet warm at the same time, and probably make you happier as well. And when you have these socks, in pairs, happy, begging to be worn, please don't wear them with sandals.