262 - The Man Who Is Not Tall

Ahoy, ahoy, it is Jeffrey Craner letting you know that welcome to Night Vale is coming to Europe. In May of 2026, we will be in Edinburgh on May 27th, Manchester on May 28th, that's my birthday. London on May 29th and finally on May 30th, we are closing out our short little jaunt overseas in Amsterdam. This is our newest live show, Murder Night in Blood Forest and it is so wild and so much fun, you gotta come see it. Tickets are on sale now so Europe, go get your tickets, come see us at the end of May, we'll see you there. Tickets are available at welcometonightvale.com slash live. Also, if you like to gear up with Night Vale stuff, we have some brand new merch in our store. We just put out a t-shirt that says laughter is the only medicine. We have this really cool hot and cold tumbler designed by Jessica Hayworth with these really, really creepy moths on them and also, you know why not, we just made a trophy and it's a trophy you can get for yourself that says first place, hottest scientist. I don't know, you do you. We also have new bumper stickers, we have posters, we have t-shirts, we've got a spider wool spaceball cap, shorts that say creepy on the butt, you know the drill, we have tons and tons of stuff and we're always adding new things and taking away old things so if you've seen our store once, you've only seen it that one time, it's always changing. So check it out at welcometonightvale.com and just click on store. Okay now let me get you to your Night Vale episode and hey, thanks. Listeners, I am concerned. I am concerned about a beloved member of this town, a beloved member of our neighborhood, a beloved member of my family. Yes, I am speaking now of everyone's favorite Scorpio, Steve Carlsberg. Steve has been acting, well, strangely lately and yes, of course, what does acting strangely mean in a town such as ours with a broad understanding of the spectrum of normal but I mean only that he is to the left of himself in so many ways. The Steve I know is a good family man, a good friend, a helpful hand when a hand is needed and a helpful silence when what is needed is space. All of that and more as we know has always been my opinion of our Steve. He is, lately, he is instead consumed by his new job at that tech startup, Labyrinth. He is there early in the morning and late at night and every hour between. My niece, Janice, says that the family hardly sees him anymore and when he is home, he is hunched over his Blackberry which I didn't think was a thing anymore but apparently Labyrinth had a few custom made at the old defunct factory because they just really like that classic Blackberry vibe. I don't know what has happened to our beloved Steve but I will not rest until I figure it out. But first some thoughts from yours truly. It has been four years since speech about clouds and cloud-related topics was legalized in Night Vale and many are in favor of the new freedoms. However, some point to a new problem in Night Vale which is cloud perverts. Cloud perverts openly stare at clouds and categorize them. They say things like, oh, what a perfect example of a serocumulus cloud or I have never seen memadous clouds but I hope I do before I die. They sit for hours and paint anatomically correct pictures of clouds. Some even sell these paintings on the dark web, just gross pervert stuff like that. And even those of us who are happy the ban has been lifted and I am always in favor of freedom of speech, except in a few thousand specific circumstances, we can't be tolerating behavior like this in our society. So what to do with cloud perverts? One answer would be to ban clouds again but I am hopeful we will not have to resort to that. The other option is to address the people rather than the object of their obsession. The people are the problem. We should loudly and clearly say to cloud perverts that is sick. You are sick. You make me sick. And if that doesn't work? Gulags. Just my POV, which stands for Private Opinion Victory. Steve spends his days in an old cargo van. Painted on the side of the van is the Labyrinth logo, a complicated white maze on a black background already several years into fading under the constant desert sun. The inside of the van smells like old car seats and new suits. The frame rattles when going over the rough pavement of the roads far out in the desert, where no one drives unless they are trying to go somewhere they can't be seen. The driver of the van is a man who is not short. Steve himself is not tall. I've never thought of him that way. He's never thought of himself that way, but it's true. Steve is a man who is not tall and he rides with a man who is not short. Steve wears sunglasses. The sun reflects blinding off the sand, but that is not the reason he hides his eyes. He taps his fingers nervously on the old plastic window frame. He whistles nervously through dry lips. He blinks nervously, but no one can see because of the sunglasses. He is our Steve, a man with a family who loves him, but right now none of that matters. He rides shotgun in the old van and he is not tall. Let's have a quick word now from our sponsors. Because when the wind shifts suddenly and it's no longer pushing the cool of the ocean depths out into the desert, but instead the dried salt of the desert pushing back toward the ocean of its birth and the clouds are all passing the wrong way across the sky and the trees are bowing against the power of that dry displeased god. That was when I knew that I also had been living my life the wrong way around, that the choices I had made seemingly reasonable in the moment were madness in hindsight. The kind of ill fortune that can only be brought onto yourself through your own misguided belief that you understand what you need. And so, laughing at a joke in which I was both set up and punchline, I turned the car around and started driving back to that small town in the high mountain woodlands where my secret still echo is gossip in the neighbor's ears because I needed start over because until I started over I would only be adding to my already accumulating mistakes. Listerine. It's what we're advertising. This has been a quick word from our sponsors. And now let's take a look at traffic. VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR over at the sand dune that looks like every other sand dune. The driver consults landmarks that are not apparent to anyone else and nods confirmation that this is the place. The man who is not short gets out of the van and Steve, the man who is not tall, follows. The two men, equal in height to the millimetre, walk quickly to the back of the van, and with a few efficient movements, heave a large wooden crate out of the back, grunting and swearing and sweating through their no-nonsense button-up shirts. They carry the box up the sand dune to the very top and then lay it carefully down so as not to jostle whatever is inside. After that, they take a few minutes rest. Neither of them speak. From the top of the sand dune, they can just barely see the rooftops of night veil glittering in the noonday sun. I don't know what Steve thinks as he looks back at his town. The other man offers him water and he gratefully drinks, but does not speak his thank you. Talking is discouraged in this line of work. So he sweats in silence and then break over, the two get back to their task. More on Steve soon. But first, the children's fun fact science corner. Here are some quick dos and don'ts to have a safe and scientific time at home. Do have beakers filled with different colored substances. If some of the beakers are bubbling, all the better. Do not have the little machine with two antennae and some electricity that goes zip zip up them. That is only for experienced professionals in well-equipped laboratories. Do look at stuff under a microscope. It's a great way to learn more about the world because the microscope makes everything look bigger, like so much bigger. Do not attempt to look at your own eye through a microscope in a mirror. I tried it and it doesn't work. Do get your partner's enthusiastic consent and have a conversation with them about what they're hoping to get out of this scientific session. Do not try to disprove God. She hates that. Do avoid all don'ts. Don't avoid all dos. This has been a children's fun fact science corner. And now for a children's sad fact science corner. Once there was a stream in the far north reaches of Russia, in the place that has been home to waves of human civilization over thousands of years, some willing, some not testing the limits of what human experience can encompass. In that stream was a kind of fish. It was not a pretty fish, if we are to judge other creatures only by their aesthetic or practical value to us. And by that same rubric, neither was the fish nutritious or tasty. But it was alive and it lived in the stream. And the stream was its world in the way that our world is the world, a limitation we do not perceive. During the middle of the last century, great mining facilities were built in the far north reaches of Russia. And laborers were sent there, a new captive population digging up nickel and breathing in nickel and coughing up nickel, a pretty little sparkle on the exhale, killing them. And from these mining facilities came a black poisonous sludge that overtook the stream. And the fish died. They had never been discovered by any humans. And so no humans noticed their absence, but they were absent, nonetheless. No one knows this fact. You don't either. This has been a children's sad fact, Science Corner. The man who is not short gestures to the right spot. And the man who is not tall, Steve, starts digging. They were not given shovels, only instructions, and an understanding that they must do what is needed to get the job done. And so Steve digs with his hands. The sand scrapes at his palms, gets under his nails, and chafes the still soft skin of his hands uncomfortably. He ignores all this, and he digs. The man who is not short does not dig. There is some complex seniority system involved that has less to do with how many years you have put into the organization, and more to do with how many layers of its secrets you have uncovered. But in any case, the man who is not short is no longer a person who has to dig, and Steve is still very much a person who has to dig. Finally, Steve is done digging. Bags up, lets the man who is not short inspect the work. The man who is not short nods imperceptibly. And then, against all code of conduct, he mutters, good job. Steve isn't sure what to do with his compliment. They are not supposed to exchange compliments. Surely the man who is not short did the greater wrong, offering the compliment, but would Steve also be doing wrong if he accepted it? Still, he cannot let the words lie. Thanks, he says. He tries to brush off his hands, but they will have traces of sand on them for days. And now, as that lovable old children's TV host Jigsaw used to say, do you want to play a game? Today I thought we could play that classic kids game, sneak past the wagon. Yes, that's right. The one where you pick one child to be the wagon, and that child closes their eyes and shuffles through the room, mumbling, I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. And all of the kids try to sneak past the wagon. If any of them get caught, they become dead and can't play the game anymore, because they actually become actually dead. So it's a bit of a high stakes game. But that's what makes it fun, right? Okay, I'll be the wagon. Are you ready? You better be. I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. I am the corpse wagon. Bring me, you're dead. Dead! Again, in the words of that lovable scamp Jigsaw, that was so fun. Thanks for playing! Hole-Dug The man who is not short finally joins Steve, the man who is not tall. The two of them take hold of the crate and gently lower it into the sand. With the crate as snug, the man who is not short steps back again and leaves Steve to the grunt work. The wind over the sand dunes whistles a hollow, inharmonic melody. Far away, a cloud formation works itself up into a storm. Although, until it leaves the empty spaces and makes contact with human civilization, it is not yet truly weather. The wind over the sand dunes whistles a hollow, inharmonic melody. Far away, a cloud formation works itself up into a storm. The wind over the sand dunes whistles a hollow, inharmonic melody. The trundling path, the trundling path. There's no better roses than the welcome mat. But taking it short could raise the fun in that I'd love to know. The trundling path, the trundling path. Why wiggle and squirm all need to be commenced at. Not even an interesting one at that I'd love to know. The trundling path, the trundling path. Some people like diamonds, but why hyperventile? Or any little something that can make you laugh? I'd love to know. The trundling path, the trundling path. A treacherous hike, no one can quarry or grieve. And where is the joy again, hopeful about I'd love to know. The trundling path, the trundling path. We all know about the trundling path. But will you grow out of your tin foil hat? I'd love to know. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. Come gather all your photos and your autographs. Get married today, now how'd you fancy that we finally know? The trundling path, the trundling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. The crumbling path, the crumbling path. Music Hi this is Rob Benedict and I am Richard Spate. We were both on a little show you might know called Supernatural. It had a pretty good run, 15 seasons, 327 episodes. And though we have seen of course every episode many times, we figured hey, now that we're wrapped, let's watch it all again. And we can't do that alone. So we're inviting the cast and crew that made the show along for the ride. We've got writers, producers, composers, directors, and we'll of course have some actors on as well including some certain guys that played some certain pretty iconic brothers. It was kind of a little bit of a left field choice in the best way possible. The note from Kripke was, he's great, we love him, but we're looking for like a really intelligent decovanie type. With 15 seasons to explore, it's going to be the road trip of several lifetimes. So please join us and subscribe to Supernatural then and now. And Steve, the man who is not tall, follows. Not a single car has passed along this desolate stretch of road and so they return to their van unseen. Finally, Steve speaks. Can I ask? The man who is not short makes no attempt to stop him from speaking, but also offers no encouragement to continue. Still, Steve persists. He's buried in a sand dune which changes shape and moves with the wind. Soon enough it will be uncovered for anyone to find. So what was the point of our work today? The man who is not short looks out to the horizon as if expecting the arrival of others. But there are no others arriving. The road remains empty. It's a good question. The man who is not short allows. Thank you. Steve says, Steve, feeling ashamed of how grateful he feels for even this small encouragement. It's best not to ask any questions. The man who is not short continues. Especially good ones. He gets back into the van. Steve, after a moment, does as well. The van roars to life. When the radio comes on, it is stuck between stations. A loud, unpleasant squeal. Steve covers his ears, but the man who is not short does not make any move to turn off or fix the radio. He swings the van around and starts slowly driving back toward Night Vale. Listeners, I am worried for my brother-in-law. I am worried about our friend, our neighbor, our family member. I am worried. Stay tuned next for the sound of running water somewhere in your walls. Is that a leak? But it's nowhere near any pipe. What is that? Where is that coming from? Good night, Night Vale. Good night. Good night. This episode's weather was The Trundling Path by NoMonsterClub. Find more at bobbieswebsite.com. Comments, questions, email us at infoatwelcometonightvale.com or follow us on Blue Sky at Night Vale Radio or on Instagram, Tumblr and TikTok at Night Vale Official. Or take one candy from this bowl and please leave the rest for others. Most importantly, check out welcometonightvale.com where we have a twice monthly mailing list that is the best way to keep up to date directly from us to you. We're going to have to do it old-fashioned from here on out. Today's proverb. The rules of mini golf are simple. The first person to keep score loses. Hey, y'all, it is Jeffrey Kramer speaking to you from the year 2025. And did you know that welcome to Night Vale is back out on tour? We are. We're going to be up in the Northeast in the Boston, New York City area, going all the way over to the Upper Midwest in Minnesota. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Midwest in the Northwest and we're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. We're going to be up in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest in the Northwest. All of these live shows are on sale now at welcometonightville.com. Don't let time slip away and miss us when we are in your town because otherwise we will all be sad. Get your tickets to our live US plus Toronto tours right now at welcometonightville.com. See you soon.