Setting: A park bench in Trondheim, Norway, late afternoon. It’s cloudy, and the ground is damp after light morning rain. Two friends, Liv and Erik, are finishing their coffee-to-go after a walk.
Liv: (jumping slightly and sidestepping)
Ugh! That was close. I nearly stepped on that black slug!
Erik: (laughs)
It’s not going to sue you, Liv. It’s just a slug.
Liv:
It’s not about lawsuits. You know what happens if you step on a black slug.
Erik: (raises an eyebrow)
It rains? You’ve got to stop with this, Liv. We live in Norway. It rains regardless of slug casualties.
Liv: (seriously)
Erik, I’m telling you. Every time I’ve accidentally stepped on a black slug—every time—it’s rained within 24 hours. Sometimes within minutes.
Erik:
So your data set is… what? Based on coincidence and moist guilt?
Liv:
I’m telling you, it’s a pattern. Last month, I squished one on the way to Rema 1000, and boom—sudden downpour. My bread got soaked. There’s a connection.
Erik: (grinning)
Liv, that’s not causation. That’s like saying: “I wore my lucky socks, and the bus came early, so my socks control public transport schedules.”
Liv:
No, this is different. Slugs are of the earth, Erik. There’s a reason old folks used to say it too. Nature has signs. Animals behave differently before earthquakes. Birds migrate early if winter’s coming sooner. Maybe slugs signal moisture or atmospheric pressure changes.
Erik:
Okay, now that makes more sense. But that’s the slug’s behavior, not some magic punishment for stepping on one. If slugs are out and about, maybe that’s because the air is humid and rain is already likely.
Liv: (pauses)
I mean, maybe… but don’t you find it even a little odd? Like, never once have I stepped on one and had a sunny day.
Erik:
Here’s the thing—confirmation bias. You remember the slug-rain combos because it reinforces your belief. But what about all the rainy days when you didn’t step on a slug? Or dry days when you almost did?
Liv:
Well, I do try not to test it. Why tempt the sky gods?
Erik: (laughs)
Sky gods? This is Norway, not Mount Olympus. Look, I get the charm of folklore. It’s cozy, and yeah, maybe even a fun way to feel connected to the land. But if we believed everything just because someone said it centuries ago, we’d still think the Northern Lights are the souls of the dead doing cartwheels.
Liv: (smiling)
Hey, don’t insult the souls. They’ve got good form.
Erik:
I’ll give them that. But how about this—you let me step on a slug today, and if it doesn’t rain tomorrow, you admit it’s just a myth.
Liv: (horrified)
What?! No! That’s barbaric. Besides, if it does rain, I’ll be soaking and smug.
Erik:
Fair. But science isn’t just about testing—it’s about letting go of patterns that don’t hold up. I’m not saying your experiences aren’t real. I’m saying the reason behind them might not be the one you think.
Liv: (sighs)
Alright, science boy. You win today. But I’m still not stepping on any slugs. Superstition or not, it’s gross.
Erik: (nodding)
Agreed. Let the slugs live. But if it rains tomorrow… I’m blaming the clouds. Not your murder-free shoes.
Liv: (playfully)
And if it doesn’t rain, I’m still not apologizing. It just means I didn’t anger the slug gods. You’re welcome.
Erik:
We’ll call it a truce—with slugs and science both intact.
[They laugh, tossing their empty cups and continuing their walk as another gray cloud rolls in—just in case.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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