A couple months back, Time Travelers were some of the baitiest click bait on the Internet. Now that the craze has died down and no one is really interested in them, I thought it would be the perfect time to tell their story. It makes one wonder: Stranded time travelers. How are they doing? Do they feel abandoned? Are they ever late for conference calls, or, based on time jump knowledge, do they know that nothing will happen on them?
I needed to talk to one of these timeless beings post haste. But first, I needed to find one. I took to the streets.
At the nearby East Bound 81 Lawrence bus stop, I kept my eyes peeled. I noticed a young man standing to my left. He was wearing mustard colored pants, a tweed trench coat, a bowler hat, and flip sunglasses like Dwayne Wayne would wear. His multi-era’d wardrobe sent off green flags. Green flags are good signs in juxtaposition to their red flag counterparts. I wasted no time.
“Sir! Yes, you. Are you a time traveler?”
“A time traveler?
“Yes. One who travels through time and space.”
“Like Doctor Who?”
“Have you met him?!”
At this point, a woman who had been observing my interview interjected herself.
“He’s not a time traveler. He’s just a hipster. You know. One of those millennials.”
As the two started to argue over what constituted a hipster, I considered the term millennial. What if there was a whole subsection of the global population that was just born into time traveling? Man, alive!
The last I heard of the man and woman’s debate was a comparison of Radiohead’s “The Bends” vs. their most recent release, “A Moon Shaped Pool.” I could not participate as I forgot my Ventra card and was refused admittance on the bus.
Later that day I was at the local Walgreens picking up my prescription for the blood pressure medication hydrochlorothiaziade (25mg). The pharmacy tech asked me if I was aware that the manufacturer of the medication had changed.
“They process the drug a little differently. It could activate one of your allergies.”
Luckily, my journalist’s brain is like a gazelle ready to pounce on an unsuspecting dentist who had come to sport hunt him.
“How did you know the new manufacturer could activate my allergies?”
“It says so in the system.”
“I see. Are you a time traveler?!”
It is always best to cut directly to the chase.
“There’s a pop up box on my screen. I’m supposed to tell you the new manufacturer processes the drug differently. I can’t click OK until I inform you that this could activate one of your allergies.”
“Where is this…screen?”
I began to look around for some sort of ethereal, yet esoteric, airborne 3D holographic display I just knew the pharmacy tech was referring too. Instead, they tapped on a an old CTX monitor in front of them.
“This screen. The one right here.”
I peered at this monitor with great suspicion.
“You know, sir, your blood pressure could be too low. That could cause you to act…a certain… What I’m trying to say here is that maybe you don’t need to be on meds anymore. I could call your doctor for you.”
I nodded. I knew what this meant. Clearly, cameras and surveillance equipment surrounded us. It was not safe for us to talk right then. But I could call when the pharmacy tech was on their break. I did call several times, but was always mysteriously rerouted to someone who identified themselves as “Security.”
My search continued.
I stopped at the local Dunkin’ Donuts for an extra large coffee with cream and sugar and two chocolate long johns. The barista hated me for quite some time now. I knew this because once they told me: “You are too fat to drink this much coffee and eat that many donuts. What is wrong with you? You infuriate me. I hate you, you blimp!”
Based on this, I watched them prepare my coffee to ensure nothing foreign was introduced into it.
“Thank you, barista.”
“For the last time, I am not a barista. That is a different chain of coffee shops, entirely! I am a cashier. Now, take your coffee and donuts, fatso!”
I sat down to ponder my next move and eat my lunch. Next to me was a man huddled over a laptop. The wi-fi was not cooperating with him.
“Poo! I’m never going to get my license!”
Such an exclamation made me instantly wonder how the man knew this. I raised my long john out of my coffee and took a bite. After I let the wooly, seductive sensation of fried cake iced in chocolate and infused with coffee overtake my senses, I made my move.
“Sir! You’re a time traveler, aren’t you?!”
The man looked at me and took in my being.
“I’m trying to study so I can get a real estate license. But this stuff is so complex. There’s some stock market stuff in here for some reason. Junk about holds, puts, and futures. I don’t know why any of that is in here. Maybe I’m looking at the wrong course.”
Eureka! I had finally found a time traveler willing to talk about futures!
“We’ve all wondered if we’re on the wrong course, haven’t we?”
“What are you going on about, guy?”
“Tell me about these futures. This supposed real estate. Is it in juxtaposition to make-believe estate?”
The man squinted his eyes and gave me massive side eye. It was clear: he thought I was crazy. Crazy to ask him about such things in public!
“You really think I’m a time traveler, don’t you?”
“Aren’t you?”
The man took a deep sigh and closed his laptop. As he pushed it away from him and folded his hands, I prepared to unlock the mysteries of the cosmos.
“Sure, guy. I’m a time traveler. I come from the future.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Of course! What, you think names go away in the future? No. They do not. My name is…Cumquat Bling Blang Outer Crop from Sector 7 G.”
“An honor and absolute privilege to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“You can only use the wi-fi for thirty minutes!”
The barista cashier seemed intent on ruining my interview. I scowled. Cumquat took notice.
“You see that. That is one of them.”
“One of who?”
“Exactly.”
“Of course! Mind controllers who hate freedom!”
“Bingo, my man. They become rampant after the bombs go off.”
“Bombs?!”
“Keep it down, my friend. Yes. We are very close to a nuclear holocaust.”
“Balderdash!”
“Sad to say it’s true, guy. One fateful Friday night during the long running CBS family slash police drama Blue Bloods, the bombs will be dropped.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“The season finale. Or the premiere. That part is grainy.”
“Goodness, gracious, me.”
“Tom Selleck utters a word that the FCC deems unwholesome.”
“What was the word?”
Cumquat looked both ways before the reveal.
“The word was…pancake.”
“Pancake?”
“Pancake.”
“What a horrible thing to say!”
“Instead of just hitting some button to take them off the air, the FCC actually hits the go switch on the nuclear football. And. Boom.”
“Doesn’t the president carry the nuclear football?”
“Eh, he thinks it makes him look fat.”
“So he left it with the next person in the chain of command: the FCC. Of course!”
Cumquat squinted even harder at me. I wondered if the time travel was causing his head to ache. He chuckled and eased back in his chair.
“I was sent back here to get my real estate license. It’s our only hope.”
“How? How will it save us, Cumquat?”
“They key is the real estate. It’s all about estates. That are real. Real-real real estate, guy.”
“As opposed to make-believe?”
“As opposed to make-believe.”
“The juxtaposition! Of course!”
I had enough for my story. I immediately got up and left approximately 62% of my coffee and roughly one whole long john on the table. It was not like me to leave a mess. The cashier barista made note of this.
“Hey, wide load! You left some behind! Good for you! You just added 7 seconds to your life span!”
This experience has made me take stock of how I life my life. I don’t watch Blue Bloods. I really haven’t watched anything on CBS for years. So I won’t ever really know if Cumquat succeeds. Every moment counts. That’s the way we should all live. Don’t take life for granted. I know I won’t. The first thing I did when I got home was to take out my laptop and order Panang Curry, crispy spicy tuna maki, veggie egg rolls, and two Thai iced coffees from Sung’s Sushi off of Grub Hub. I had a 20% off coupon code. It was time to start experiencing the finer things in life. Sung’s motto is: “Sung’s Sushi. Because you can’t sing until you’ve Sung!”
You can’t sing until you’ve sung, indeed!