The Multi-Universe

The man sat in the bar, sipping away at his beer. He didn't look up, staring intently at the salt shaker. Now the bartender was use to this sort of customer, the one that liked to be by themselves. But it was something about this one that intrigued him; and it was a slow night. He put down the grime-sodden mug and wandered over.
“Another?” he asked, always looking for a good sell.
“Huh,” grunted the man. “A choice.”
“Yeah,” said the bartender. “But an easy one, no?”
“No,” said the man. “There are no such thing as easy choices. Or hard choices. Or choices at all.”
“Oh? And what makes you say that.” The man took another sip of his beer, sitting in silence. The bartender hovered around, waiting to see if anything was going to happen. As he turned the man spoke again.
“I discovered God today,” said the man.
“Good on you sir,” said the bartender. “Found the good book, did you?”
“I discovered God,” repeated the man, “and proved that he didn't exist.” The bartender suppressed a snort. It would be the same sad story of lost love, substance abuse, or crap jobs. And the bartender would be there to help ease the sorrows, along with Jack Daniel.
“Care to explain?” he asked, pulling a beer from the shelf and putting it next to the man. The man wordlessly took it. He looked over to two lovers making out in the corner.
“Imagine if they never met,” the man said.
“I bet they wouldn't be very happy.”
“Really? Perhaps they had met other people. Perhaps she had never been born. Perhaps he had shot himself earlier in life. All those little choices that led them there. Makes you think.”
“Yes sir, it does, doesn't it. The power of love.”
“Love,” snorted the man. “I've been a scientist for many years, and I've never seen a trace of love.” He turned and stared at the salt shaker. Suddenly he picked it up and poured it onto the counter.
“Hey,” cried the bartender, going to wipe it up. But the man stopped him.
“Imagine, if you would, that every one of these grains was a universe. One of them has you rich and wealthy. Another has you on a street. For ever choice you've made in life, an alternate version of you has made the opposite choice. And if life is a series of choices, then there must be millions of you.” The bartender nodded, seeing the man's point. “Out there is a universe where it didn't rain. There was more gravel. A stronger barrier. But those possibility can't exist without this one, can they? It doesn't matter what any of us do, does it. We are dying, all of us, continuously.”
“Naturally,” said the confused bartender. He wasn't use to this sort of banter from his customers, and was far out of his depth.
“You don't understand, do you? I can see it on your face. Never mind, I'll try to explain. You don't own a time machine, do you.”
“No?” said the bartender.
“But there must be a version of you that does. And that version has another choice: 1956 or 1957? Naturally two different versions of you go to two separate time periods. And you have another choice. Should you take your walk-man, or ipod? Again, two versions. A version of you travels to every time period, taking everything.”
“So everyone exists everywhere and every-when?” said the bartender.
“Exactly. As frozen, endless pictures. Like the frames of a film. We just put the pictures together and perceive it as time. You see the salt shaker? See it full of salt? If all those grains were universe, where would they be? Scatter across the bench? Or inside a giant salt shaker, or universe. If the universe is infinite, surely infinity can fit inside infinity an infinite amount of times. One universe that is at once all universes. The Multi-Universe.”
“That's very clever,” said the bartender. “You should publish it.”
“But what would be the point?” said the man. “I either will, or won't. It doesn't matter what I choose to do. It has happened. It is happening. It will happen. A futility of pointlessness.”
“So you're just going to give up?” said the bartender.
“I have no choice,” said the man. “For a universe to exist of my success, there must be one where I fail. All I can do is hope that I get that universe. But I, or version of I, have died millions of times, and will die a million more. It can't be stopped, or diverted.”
“But surely we should make the most of the universe we find ourselves in?” said the bartender desperately. The man said nothing, walking towards the door.
“Hey,” said the bartender. “You never paid.”
“Of course I did,” said the man. “In another universe, that is.” The bartender watched the man go, and went back to the rag. He started to wipe, but stopped and looked back to where the man was sitting. He picked up the bottle.
“In any other world,” he chuckled, “I'm a rich man. Ah well, c'est la vie.” He threw the bottle away and got back on his life, determined to make it the best he could. Screw the other versions of himself. They could look after themselves.