The most random number

is the number 8

My husband Aaron can’t just listen to music.

He has a System that must be adhered to.

A System that involves lists.

He writes lists solely meant to direct him to other lists. The “Music I Own But Haven’t Listened To” list. The “Just Bought” list. The “Only Listened Once” list. He uses Random to navigate these lists. The System involves finding a title on a book, movie, or album cover. He randomly chooses a number, like 8, and counts eight letters down the title. Whatever letter he lands on now has to be translated into its own number. If he lands on “D,” his new number will be 4. He references back to his list and counts down four. What he lands on is what he will listen to.

There were clues from the beginning that a System was ruling Aaron’s less essential life choices. Sometimes I saw him tapping his fingers against surfaces, like a child does when learning to count. Or I’d spot him mouthing numbers to himself, reciting some mysterious formula in his head. Slowly, I figured out what was going on.

He was reticent to explain the gory details, but like a serial killer must confess his crimes, Aaron needed to confess his compulsions. For instance, how most of his System revolved around the number eight.

“Eight is the most random number there is,” he told me when I noticed he wasn’t just turning on the iPod in the car but first tapping against the steering wheel.

“So, wait,” I said. “You use ‘8’ every time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not really . . . random, is it?”

But he won’t budge on the subject. Eight is the perfect random number, the number ruling Aaron’s life. Even after twenty-something years, I’m still stumbling upon new areas of Eightdom, and often tease him that Random is his religion.

Several years ago, something changed. As far as I could tell, Aaron wasn’t using his System anymore. I saw no finger tapping, no number-mouthing. I confronted him. Had he given up his System? Abandoned his precious number eight?

He didn’t want to show me, but couldn’t resist.

“I have found the ultimate Random,” he confided, eyes as feverish as the newly indoctrinated.

He opened his laptop and nodded toward the open window. It was a simple webpage, not much to it at all—just a few lines to create parameters for optimal number generation.

Aaron had found his mecca, his muse, a perfect device to scratch the itch.

He’d discovered “random.org.”

Enjoyed this dispatch from the church of random? This is On the Page: Home of my true stories (essays, short-form memoir, flash, the occasional unclassifiable) . . . some of which escape the page and end up told live onstage. Subscribe and you’ll get more where this came from, aka true stories, oddballs, oral storytelling and thoughts on producing a live storytelling show when you’re a person who’d really rather go cocoon in their hidey hole.(Subscribing costs $0, and Aaron would want you to know that zero is not a random number.)

And if you’d like to hear MORE oral storytelling: I co-run In a Nutshell Storytelling in Sacramento, where curated true stories get told live on stage, some shared here on Substack. Come see one.

xoxo, Amy Bee, who thinks 3 is a waaaay better number.