Whoa. It's Been A While. So Here's A Story.

Damn. I, just...damn. Bear in mind that in four words I just swore more than I have in the entire previous history of this blog combined, so that may illustrate matters.

I'm sorry. I got caught up in doing all sorts of random stuff, feeling steadily worse and worse and worse about not updating, but never doing anything about it, out of sheer laziness or whatever. I don't really have any kind of good excuse, I just didn't feel like it. And, again, I'm sorry. I took Vaughn's words too much to heart - I felt that I didn't have any obligation at all, when just in taking this and making promises to you and to myself I have an implied obligation to actually go through on those promises.

So updates will come more frequently. I swear it. I swear.

The last two weeks? Lots and lots of stuff happened. I've played a lot of D&D, played the World of WarCraft board game, watched the same movie two nights in a row and enjoyed it as much the second time as the first, received news both good and bad from my various classes, pondered seriously about not rejoining the marching band next year on account of I'll be very busy with my various other extracurriculars (and curriculars, counting my ultra-difficult Reporting class), stayed up way too darn late on several occasions, slept way too darn late on several other occasions (oddly, these ran mostly concurrently), discovered that I've grown better at Ping-Pong in the months since I've last played it, proposed to go on a road trip to Louisiana with my best friend, spoken to a psychologist about some mental problems I've been having, played the World of WarCraft card game (I like playing Onyxia's Lair, the boss deck, as the dragon lord; won two and lost one), watched the sun rise as I went for a run, discovered that one of the guys I game with has a ten-year-old daughter (I didn't even know he was married), discovered that said daughter has considerable skills at many of the games her father is also skilled at - enough to beat me about half the time, had one campaign in D&D in particular where the DM racked up seven PC deaths in two sessions (with five total characters) due to his treating death in combat in the console-RPG style of "when combat ends, they get better" (it was still lots of fun, despite the fact that we didn't take it seriously), wrote a nearly ten-page story on time-travel, agonized about my end-of-the-year project for political science, had one or two moral quandaries that didn't really go anywhere, met a girl online who I'm fairly certain is an actual girl and not a 47-year-old plumber who has body odor like the sun has heat, tried valiantly but mostly fruitlessly to organize my future roommates well enough that they can turn in their rental applications and thus get the leases before they head home for the summer, and finally wrote an enormous droning run-on sentence that really should have been broken up into four or five paragraphs. Honestly. This is ridiculous.

So, that's the Cliffs Notes version of the last two weeks. If you have questions about any one subject in particular, leave a comment (if anyone's still bothering to check for updates, self-pity self-pity self-pity) and I'll explore it more fully.

Now, for that time-travel story I wrote. It was the crowning story for my American Science Fiction in Film and Literature course, and I like it a lot. I discovered that with a boring, droll, and unimaginative main character, you can tell quite the interesting story. Here it is.
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I checked my watch. Then I checked it again, due to the fact that I hadn’t really looked the first time. I have an irritating habit of doing that. I have got to work on that some day.

I had just finished my presentation at the main office building of Ekralc Co., so named for its wizened and esoteric founder, A. C. Ekralc himself. I was told by my manager that it was a center for research into high technology and finding new particles, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

All I really needed to know about the place was that they needed large quantities of 3½” washers, and therefore, I was the man to call. The “go-to guy,” to use the “slang term.” I am a seller of 3½” washers for Amalgamated Distributors. I have been a seller of 3½” washers for Amalgamated Distributors for twelve years now, and will most likely go to my grave a seller of 3½” washers for Amalgamated Distributors. (Unless we get bought out by Home Depot, as they keep threatening to do.) It’s not much, but it’s my business, and I’m not afraid to admit that I’m one of the top sellers of 3½” washers in the tri-state region.

Part of my job involves giving presentations as to why one company or another should purchase 3½” washers from Amalgamated Distributors as opposed to one of our competitors. I “cut to the heart” of the situation, I like to think, pointing out how many of our competitors allow a .8% nickel impurity, while we keep ours down to a much more reasonable .3%, among other things. I spend long nights doggedly researching exactly how our 3½” washers are superior to any others currently offered on the market, and my presentations are precise and exact as a result.

For some reason, when I tell people this, they either laugh uncomfortably or just stare. I cannot think why. Given that I am a seller of 3½” washers, I think it should be obvious that I should seek to excel in all aspects of my salesmanship. Some people just do not have an eye for quality, it seems.

But I digress.

I had just completed another excellent presentation, and was waiting for the elevator to take me down. I was alone in my stay; the other salesman, my rival, had sensed defeat and left before I had even finished. I enjoy those times when it happens so simply. It saves a lot of inconvenient effort and talking on everybody’s part, I believe.

The elevator dinged.

I descended.

I left the building. (I apologize for my descriptions being a bit sparse, but so little of note occurred that I didn’t really consider any of it worthy of mentioning.)

I approached my old Plymouth and dug my right hand into my pocket to retrieve my keys. This gave me pause. Every time I approached my car, I had to switch my briefcase from my right hand to my left hand in order to free my hand for my keys, but this time, no such motion had occurred. It struck me that I did not, in fact, have my briefcase with me.

It was obvious. I had left it in the presentation room. So I abandoned my search for my keys and set off back towards the building at a brisk pace.

Upon arriving at the building and being shown in by the smartly-besuited receptionist, I stood at the elevator in puzzlement. For the life of me, I could not remember what floor on which I had given my presentation. Was it the fourth floor, or the fifth? No matter, I decided. I would simply exit the elevator on the fourth floor, and if that was the incorrect choice, the fifth floor was only a few seconds away.

I ascended alone, as I had descended. But this journey was far more noteworthy than my previous one had been. I felt a strange tingle in the base of my neck, and my vision phased in and out of focus. The ride seemed to go on for much longer than it had a few minutes previous, yet we made no stops. I attributed the difficulties to stress caused by the tense and hyper-competitive atmosphere which selling 3½” washers always evokes.

After what seemed like an interminably long time, the doors opened and I stepped out. But here a most peculiar thing happened. I was seemingly no longer in the building of Ekralc Co. Either that, or they had performed a frighteningly fast redecoration job in the few minutes I had spent in the parking lot.

Instead of the beige-carpeted hallways leading to rather drab offices and presentation rooms I had previously encountered, I was greeted with a series of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over a peculiarly-constructed city. It bore little resemblance to Chicago, or at least the Chicago that I had become somewhat acquainted with yesterday after my plane landed.

The buildings were much taller. Many of them extended past the level of the clouds, which, inversely, seemed much closer to the ground. Odd metalwork covered them in irregular grid-like patterns. People, looking small as ants from my vantage point, inhabited this metalwork, climbing to and fro.

On the streets, instead of Mustangs and Civics and SUVs dominating the highway, sleek blue and green vehicles whisked to and fro, lacking wheels, looking as though they rode on the air itself.

The largest difference of all was in the air. Dirigibles of all shapes and sizes populated the sky, some docking in the metalwork surrounding buildings, most afloat between the skyscrapers. Many were lit up with bright lights spelling out words that could not be read from my distance. I felt as though I had stepped backwards in time; the airplane had clearly made such airships obsolete.

I had little time to ponder all these peculiarities, though. A broad-faced and smiling man approached me, his arms open wide. I wondered if he was expecting a hug. His clothes were as odd as anything else I had seen. Instead of a traditional suit, or even a T-shirt and jeans, he wore a sort of tunic or robe, which flowed down to his ankles, in a rather distasteful shade of orange. His hair was cropped short, and one of his eyebrows was replaced with a metallic strip just above the eye.

“Welcome!” he suddenly boomed, in a cracking baritone. “Welcome to...” He paused, apparently for dramatic effect. His eyes widened and he waggled his eyebrows, or rather his eyebrow. “...the future!” he concluded, stretching out the word “future” like it was a piece of delicious taffy.

“The future?” I said, raising an eyebrow of my own. It seemed I had not, in fact, stepped backwards in time after all.

“Yes!” he proclaimed. “The future!!” He seemed slightly pained that I was not immediately overwhelmed by his pronunciation. Nonetheless, he soldiered on bravely. “You have become one of the lucky, lucky few to enter a world so very different and so far superior from anything you knew before! All has changed! Your fateful journey has earned you a free pass into an exciting new life far beyond your wildest dreams!”

He went on. I have given a great many presentations in my life, and listened to roughly an equal number of same. As such, I have become very good at distinguishing when someone is reading back a memorized script, and when they are actually speaking fluently on a subject they excel in. This was clearly the former. If I listened, I could actually hear where notes in his script such as “pause dramatically” and “sigh with wonder” were certainly placed.

“How did I come to be here?” I interrupted. He looked momentarily dismayed, but rallied quickly.

“Ah, yes, an excellent question,” he said, clearly mentally switching onto another prepared set of lines. “You see, you have entered a stable time loop.”

“A what?” I asked mildly.

“A stable time loop,” he repeated. “In your era, any who stood in a certain spot inside a certain elevator at a certain time of day and year and went to a certain floor were flung...” He opened his arms wide again. I was beginning to tire rapidly of his enforced drama. “Forwards in time!”

“How?”

“Another excellent question,” he went on, slightly manically. “You see, due to the high-energy research that took place during your era under the wing of the Ekralc Corporation, one of their experiment caused temporal particles to vibrate in such a way that-”

I tuned him out. I was valiantly hoping for a description more along the lines of “You pressed the button and the machine made it happen.” I have no interest in techno-babble, especially in my current situation. This was simply ruinous. How was I supposed to return home like this? I would miss my 4:35 flight out tomorrow, certainly.

He appeared to have wound down and was looking at me brightly. I felt something was expected of me at this point. I shrugged and took a few steps forward.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“I am known as Lutomo,” he proclaimed.

Odd, I thought. “What year is this?” I said.

“It is the year 2252,” he said proudly. “See the advances that have-”

“So, in two hundred and...” I paused to do a brief bit of mental math. “Two hundred and forty-four years, we as a society have actually gone backwards in terms of transportation technology?”

Lutomo looked utterly flabbergasted. “What are you talking about?” he cried. “Do you not see our transports on the surface below? We have abandoned the wasteful and destructive practice of burning fossil fuels, and moved to clean and renewable sources of energy!”

“But there are no flying cars,” I objected. “Flying cars are a staple of any futuristic scenario. Haven’t you ever read a science-fiction story?”

“Well...” Lutomo looked a bit abashed. “Flying cars were briefly introduced to the market, some sixty-five years ago. It didn’t turn out well.”

“How so?”

“The death toll was catastrophic,” he admitted. “People did not learn to control them well at all. There were thousands of collisions in the first weeks alone. They were swiftly banned.”

“This does not speak well for this future,” I said mildly. “No flying cars, and apparently people are more foolish than ever. In any case, what I was referring to were the dirigibles.”

“What about them?” Lutomo asked, growing more flustered.

“Airplanes replaced them nearly a century before my time, let alone before yours,” I said. “And where are the robots? Surely this future at least has robots.”

“Ah...” Lutomo was looking more desperate by the second. Clearly he was unused to this line of inquiry. “We, er, we have not yet fundamentally mastered the principles behind full artificial intelligence...But we expect a breakthrough any day now!” he exclaimed. Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on his forehead. “Anyway! Robots are a thing of trashy pulp novels! Our advances from your time are manifold and stupendous!”

I walked down the hallway, forcing Lutomo to scurry to match my stride. “They will have to be stupendous indeed, to compensate for the lack of flying cars and robots,” I said, with a hint of disgust. “Next, you will no doubt tell me we have not yet visited other planets.” His face fell to such a degree that I felt a bit sorry for him, and did not pursue this particular line of questioning. Such a shame.

“Our building technology!” he said, pride creeping back into his voice. “No more are we limited by steel and concrete. We can build structures that reach to the top of the sky! You have seen such marvels!”

I glanced around me. Other than the windows and the polished tile floor, it seemed more or less similar to the Ekralc Co. building I had entered this morning. “Is this building one of those marvels?” I asked.

“No, we have maintained this building for, ah...” I had settled into my usual brisk stride, purposefully placing one foot before the other, looking straight down the hallway, hands balled into fists. I call this my “Power-Walk.” This, I believe, engenders fear and respect in any I happen to come across while so striding. A healthy amount of fear mixed with some respect is absolutely essential in my business, I’ve found. Even the smallest psychological edge can seal a deal to sell 100,000,000 3½” washers. Lutomo had to skip at every alternate step to keep up. “For, for historical purposes,” he babbled. “A snapshot of early 21st-century corporate life. Also, we still do not truly understand the nature of the time loop, and fear modifying the building too greatly will damage or destroy it.”

“I can hardly bear the thought of it,” I said coolly, rounding a corner. Abruptly I stopped and turned to face Lutomo, who backed up a sudden step at my about-face. “What is your purpose here, exactly?” I asked. “Is the Ekralc Co. still in business? And if so...” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, another annoying tic I am working on eradicating. “Do they still require a steady supply of 3½” washers?”

“W...what?” Lutomo breathed, his face a mask of incomprehension. “I don’t...no, the Ekralc Co. shut down over one hundred fifty years ago.” His face cleared, he straightened up, and I would swear his eyes fairly blazed with pride. “I am the Greeter,” he said, in a louder voice. “I spot those individuals who have come forward in time and I welcome them to our vibrant new society, inculcating them into the complex and fast-paced means of what is, to them, a new world.” Again, he sounded as if he were reading it off the back of his business card. Hmm, did they still have those in the future? I made a mental note to ask, later.

“How many have you so greeted?” I asked.

“Er...you would be the first,” Lutomo said, his voice dropping.

“The first you have met?” I said.

“No, the first...ever to come through,” Lutomo mumbled. “We have known of the time loop’s existence for some time, but you are the first to actually have traveled through it.” That would certainly explain his lack of instinctual knowledge on how to do his job. I was his first customer. I felt a small amount of pity for him, but not too much. Overburdening oneself with emotions is hardly conducive to being a superior salesman of 3½” washers. One must learn to act coolly and without remorse.

Suddenly, he seized my hand, and it seemed a fire danced behind his eyes. “What was it like?” he hissed. “Leaping through time? The feeling of two hundred years of history advancing in mere seconds? The incredible sensation of history rushing past you like a raging river, and opening your eyes to find yourself in another world?”

I considered my answer carefully before replying. “Somewhat dull,” I said. “I felt a slight tingle, and the ride seemed to take unnaturally long, but that was it.”

He looked crestfallen. “No sensation of being stretched forward over an infinite distance?” he asked. “No feeling of displacement, as moving through a vast cosmic sea? No sudden shock of realization at the knowledge that things are not as they were?”

“No,” I replied. “Just a tingle.” I checked my wrist. “Oh, and my watch has stopped. Does that count as a sensation?” It clearly did not, to see his face. I shook it once, to no effect. “Can I get this repaired?” I asked.

Lutomo did not immediately answer. Obviously I had shattered a major part of his perception. I did not like to do so, but speaking precisely is very important to me. This is, incidentally, why I rarely, if ever, use contractions. I find they lessen the precision of my language, leaving what could be important words merely implied and unsaid.

After waiting three seconds longer than I deemed strictly necessary, I set off again. Lutomo started as if jolted out of a sudden reverie, and ran to catch up. He did so at the end of the hallway, puffing slightly, as I opened a door marked “EXIT.” It was refreshing to see that, in over two hundred years, EXIT signs had remained unchanged, elegant in their simplicity.
This refreshment wore off quickly when I discovered the door led to a small iron balcony on the side of the building, several stories off the ground. I turned to Lutomo, who seemed slightly lost, and regarded him with stern but not unkind eyes.

“How do we get down from here?” I asked.

“The bus,” he muttered. His talkative nature had been dulled by my destruction of his illusions. In a way, I was glad of the respite, but I did in fact need his information if I was to understand anything about this new world.

I glanced back and forth, but no bus seemed forthcoming, especially not to a bus stop forty feet off the ground. I raised an inquiring eyebrow at Lutomo, but he did not respond, lost in his malaise, except to point to my upper-left.

I looked over to see a blimp, festooned with blinking lights and various such fripperies, with the word BUS emblazoned brightly across its front. It paused in front of our balcony, and a ramp came down in the manner of a drawbridge, landing on the small un-gated section. Rails popped up along the sides like radio aerials.

I took a step forward, then hesitated. What did this, er, “bus” require as fare? Could I pay with my 21st-century money, or my Visa card which expired centuries ago? Doubtful. Lutomo, however, brushed past me and walked inwards, depositing a few grayish coins into a slot in the wall. He beckoned for me to follow. I did so, and we found seats near a window.

The ride was very smooth, with none of the bumps and shakes I find so characterize what I suppose I shall call “modern” buses. Three other passengers were on the bus with us, all wearing variations on Lutomo’s tunic. That, at least, fit well with my perceived image of the future. Most period writers, at least those I had found the time and interest to read the work of, mentioned unisex, broadly similar clothing as a sort of dress code for the future. Though comforted by the fact that my view of the future was not entirely inaccurate, I was somewhat disheartened to find that my brown suit had apparently passed out of fashion acceptability. This notion was reinforced by the odd stares I received from the other passengers. I ignored them. There was nothing to be gained there.

Lutomo looked disheartened. I felt the need to reassure him, as one professional to another, of course. “If it helps, I think that the notion of taking airships as in-city transport is quite ‘keen,’” I said. “And ‘nifty.’ Furthermore, the height of your buildings clearly indicates superior technology there, as you mentioned. I simply must learn about how this is done.” He looked up, hope alight in his eyes. In truth, I cared nothing about building technology, but if I were to get him to talk at all I clearly would have to ‘prime the pump,’ so to speak.

“Well...I don’t know the specifics, but I can put you in touch with many people who are far more well-versed in the arena of construction than I am,” Lutomo said, a note of hopefulness insinuating its way back into his voice. “And airships have been in common usage since 2137, when cities first expanded beyond the...” I tuned him out again, but put up an expression of alert interest. It was vital that I get back in his good books, as he was clearly quite a font of information – information I sorely needed in this unfamiliar world.

A series of rattles indicated that the bus ride had come to an end. Lutomo rose and motioned that I should follow him, which I did. We were now on the street I had witnessed earlier, car-like objects whirring back and forth with a curious whine. The Ekralc building was a few blocks down the road, looking stumpy and decrepit compared to the brilliantly shining and tall buildings surrounding it.

The buildings at ground level seemed vaguely similar to what one would see in a “modern” city. Stores, shops, boutiques, all were in abundance, with glittering glass (I assumed) windows displaying their wares. It did not exactly smack of futurism, but I suppose that the basic city model hardly changed for much of the history of civilization, so why should a couple of centuries alter it drastically?

I must have spent more time admiring the landscape than I thought, for I was surprised by Lutomo tugging on my arm. He brought me over to a small table with an umbrella over it, where we sat. I was pleasantly surprised to realize that the umbrella, in addition to blocking the rather harsh heat of the sun, blew a stream of cool air on those seated beneath it, and played some light music. This struck me as the most singularly useful application of future technology I had yet observed.

“I bought us lunch,” Lutomo said. I must confess to being a bit puzzled, as he had neither boxes nor bags with him. In what manner was our lunch contained? Oh, no, surely not – but, yes, my suspicions were confirmed when he revealed four small paper cups, two empty and the other two containing a number of tiny pills of various colors. He placed two – one empty, one full – carefully before me and began downing his one at a time. As he imbibed the first, he held out his empty cup, and a small nozzle extended from the handle of the umbrella and filled it with what I could only assume was water.

“What is this?” I asked, though I dreaded hearing the only logical answer.

“Lunch,” Lutomo said, as if puzzled by the question. Then he shook his head briefly and laughed. “Ah, yes. We have managed to synthesize many important nutrients into pill form. More so than that, we implant them with specific flavor, and a special mineral that reproduces the sensation of fullness.” He downed another. “I got us turkey sandwiches, pickles, potato chips, and coffee,” he said. “Try yours.”

I looked into my cup. Indeed, four pills were inside. I selected a likely-looking one, held out my empty cup as Lutomo had, and it too was filled with water from the umbrella’s spigot. I decided that I simply had to purchase one of these marvelous contraptions. No doubt there were yet more functions hidden away.

I put the pill in my mouth and chased it with a sip of water. Hmm. I smacked my lips thoughtfully. I had clearly selected the pickle, and Lutomo had not misled me – I could taste the crisp bite of the juice, the tanginess of the vinegary flesh. Impressive though the sensation was, it lacked the chewing and swallowing element I find is so important to enjoying a good meal. I put the cup down carefully.

“Are these pills all people eat?” I asked carefully.

Lutomo looked nonplussed. “Some do, yes. Actual food has become a rare commodity in recent decades, you see.” I looked politely puzzled, so he continued. “Population growth has reduced the amount of available farmland, as more and more cities need to be constructed to accommodate the increasing number of people,” he explained. “Food still exists, but it is expensive and kind of hard to come by. I, er...” He flushed slightly. “My salary doesn’t justify eating real food more than once a month or so.” He must have caught a note of disapproval in my expression, for he hurriedly continued, “But if you wish, we could go to a restaurant for dinner. Whatever you want,” he blurted.

“Are there any restaurants from my era still around?” I asked. I did so wish that Longhorn Steakhouse was still available. They make as fine a cut of prime rib as I have ever eaten.

Lutomo pointed behind me. I turned to encounter a familiar-looking set of golden arches. I cursed inwardly. Of all the concepts to survive hundreds of years into the future, McDonald’s had to be among them. It seemed like the cockroach of restaurant franchises, enduring all thrown before it.

Lutomo’s impromptu lectures on technology had been faintly interesting, in their own way, but there was a subject that I simply had to know about. If I were to thrive in this future world, it would need to be one where I could flourish in my particular idiom. I set the cups aside and leaned forward. Lutomo, sensing my interest, did the same.

“Lutomo,” I said, “there is a piece of information that is absolutely critical to me.” He blinked slowly but nodded. “I can hardly expect you to know all the businesses in existence, but do your best to come up with an answer to this.” His eyes lit up with a hungry look, and he nodded again, more quickly.

I leaned forward more, and lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What companies in existence sell 3½” washers, and are they hiring?” I asked.

Lutomo looked blank. “3½” washers?” he said, slowly. “What are those?”

Normally I would have been staggered by such a question, but in all honesty I have encountered it in the “modern” area often enough as it is. My line of work is little-known but strictly necessary. “Small disks of metal with holes in the middle, such as are put into various kinds of machinery to secure their internal devices,” I said. “Many corporations sell them in my time. Which ones do so here?”

“Small disks of...” Lutomo stammered. “Uh...none. Internal machinery like you describe was phased out in 2199, and all current machines run on floating-point optic solid-light structure.”

It hit me like a punch in the gut. I was absolutely floored. 3½” washers did not exist here? Not even as a concept? That was it. I had made my decision. Downing the remaining pills and gulping my water – and grimacing slightly at the contrast between tasting turkey, lettuce, tomato, ranch-flavored potato chips, and sweetened coffee all at once – I rose and began to Power-Walk back towards the Ekralc building.

A pounding of footsteps heralded Lutomo running up beside me, bewildered. “What, what, what is it?” he gasped. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my time,” I said quietly. If I thought he looked bewildered before, now he was utterly flabbergasted.

“What?” he nearly shouted. “Back to...How can you even say such a thing? Don’t you appreciate the world around you? All the advances that have been made? The whole freaking future?” His dismay was evident in his voice, but I did not turn to acknowledge him.

“This world has no place for a person of my talents,” I said. “Your technological advances are no doubt admirable, but I feel I must return to the time where I may find myself useful.”

Lutomo looked close to tears. “But, but...” he sputtered. “How do you even plan on getting back? We can’t send you back. We hardly know how the time loop works in the first place!”

I nodded slightly. “But you acknowledge that it is, in fact, a loop,” I said. “A loop implies that it can go either way. As it carried me forward, so may it transport me back.”

“But we don’t know how that works! Or even if it works!”

“Blind luck brought me here,” I said firmly. “I shall trust in blind luck to return me.” We were at the Ekralc Co. building once more. I entered the front door and breezed past the smiling, uniformed man who approached me. He looked puzzled as I strode past him, and I heard Lutomo exchanging brief conversation with him, before he ran to catch up with me again.

I walked purposefully up the stairs, Lutomo begging with me the whole way to reconsider. We left the stairwell and halted in front of the doors of the elevator that had sent me on my fateful journey through time.

I paused and turned to Lutomo. His face was pleading, his posture supplicating. I felt something of an obligation to placate him before I left.

“Listen,” I said, as kindly as I could manage. “I do not have a problem with you, or with the future. It is simply clear to me that I will not fit in this time period. It is nobody’s fault. It is just that this time and I are incompatible. But I wish you the best of luck in all of your future endeavors.”

“You can’t go,” Lutomo nearly whispered, hoarse with grief. “You’re the...you’re the first person I’ve ever met from the past. I need you.” His voice rose to a whine. “They said that since nobody was coming through, this position was unnecessary!” he nearly wailed. “I had four days left to wait for someone to come before I lost my job, and you came! You can’t go! I’ll lose everything!”

Emotionless as I had trained myself to be, I could not help but feel sorry for Lutomo. Circumstances beyond his control had caused this unhappy circumstance, and I was his savior, only to snatch myself away just as things seemed happiest. I felt I should do something before I left, but what? I analyzed the problem and quickly came up with a solution.

“Do you have a business card of some kind?” I asked. Sniffling, he handed me a largish card that declared him “Lutomo Malvon, Greeter Extraordinaire,” with the last word hand-drawn in pen. On the back, I took out my own pen and wrote:

To whom it may concern: Your efforts in securing a Greeter have not been in vain. I have traveled from the past to your era, and have seen many interesting sights and heard many interesting things. Lutomo was a paragon of usefulness, and I recommend him highly to continue in his present position. He is essential to aiding displaced time-travelers such as myself. Sincerely, Bill Avery, Native to 2008.

I handed back the card, which he scanned over rapidly. His sniffling diminished, and his eyes began slowly to open wide.

“With a write-up like this, they can’t fire me,” he said softly. “And the video spheres prove that you’re here and you wrote it! With this-” Lutomo reached out abruptly and clasped my hand in his. His eyes shone. “Thank you!” he cried. “This is wonderful!”

I shook his hand, no less warmly than he did mine. “It is the least I can do,” I said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a plane to catch.” The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

But the car was not empty. A youngish gentleman, smartly dressed in “modern” clothes, stepped out and looked very lost. A cup of coffee steamed in his hand. Lutomo glanced at him, then at me, then at him again, and hurriedly stuffed the card into his pocket. The man took a few steps forward and stared dumbly through the massive windows. “Wow,” he whispered.

I stepped smartly into the car, remembering where I placed myself for the ride up. Lutomo looked me in the eye one final time, and winked, grinning hugely. I nodded and returned his grin with a smile of my own. “Welcome...” he boomed. “Welcome...to the future!”

The young man gaped. “The...the future?” he gasped. “Wow! Amazing!” The two began to speak animatedly as the doors closed.

The car did not move; I had to press a button. I reached for the ground-floor button, but suddenly memory sparked. Ah, yes, my briefcase was on the fifth floor after all. I remembered clear as day. I punched the fifth floor button and hoped against hope. (I must confess to being a little worried that my luck would run out.)

My hope was confirmed by the long, very long ride, and a familiar tingle in my spine. The elevator dinged, and the door opened into Ekralc Co’s meeting-room floor. There were no floor-to-ceiling windows, just regular windows with Venetian blinds. A quick look out of one detected no impossibly tall buildings, no airships floating around, just a haze of cars, beeping and honking, on the streets below.

My briefcase was just where I had left it. I retrieved it, went to the elevator, made as if to press the call button, and paused. I turned and opened the door to the stairwell indeed. Best not to take any unnecessary chances, I thought. I descended the stairs and left the building, nodding to the same receptionist who had seen my entry.

I went to my car and left.

The drive to the airport was very uneventful, I thought.
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That's it. Tell me what y'all think. I'm going to be calling around the next few days, telling everyone that I finally updated and to read and appreciate. Well, asking, anyway.

As for my Luke-Approved YouTube Links of Many Days, well, the altered title should show you what I have planned. I have seven separate links ready. If any of these are repeats, I'm sorry, but I don't think they are. They're all very awesome.

1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QI04vi1Bpco Doctor Who, during the cliffhanger episode "Bad Wolf." His female companion, Rose Tyler, has been captured by Daleks, basically uber-powerful space Nazis. They tell him basically to surrender or she'll die. His response is absolutely epic.
2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYARnv2FFso Doctor Who again. All of this one is pretty awesome, but especially from 1:10 to 4:01, where the Daleks are interacting with the Cybermen. Daleks are neat.
3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRUpbkzEdrY Alter Bridge (also known as Creed with a different singer, as I've heard) and their song Rise Today. Nothing particularly special except its high degree of awesome.
4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZp2qpZtfbo The new trailer for the Iron Man movie, containing a lot of new and cool bits that were not seen in previous trailers. Notable lines include "Oh yeah, I can fly." And, well, that's it, because that's as notable as any one trailer needs. But "Come on, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing" deserves an honorable mention. It reminds me of Ultimate Tony Stark's (from the Ultimate universe, an alternate-universe where the characters are slightly different) line about an ex-girlfriend of his: "She was wild. She could drink like a fish and was up for doing things I'd never even heard of, not even in that year I took off just to browse the Internet."
5. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bAN7Ts0xBo Tunak Tunak Tun. I can't describe it. You've probably already seen it, or heard it, but watch it again. It bears repeating.
6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUij8FCg0z8 Rafael Mendez, a genius of the trumpet, demonstrates just how kickin' he is by playing Flight of the Bumblebee (!!) and thirty-six straight seconds of the Mexican Hat dance on one breath (!!!) on his instrument.
7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53OyPYa7SEI Justice League Unlimited, episode Divided We Fall. Lex Luthor and Brainiac have fused into a single unstoppable villain, and only the Flash is left standing to fight him. Oh, it's over, you think, Flash doesn't have any offensive powers? Think again. Lexiac discovers the hard way that KE = 1/2 m*v^2.

Right. So. REPLIES.

Mom: We shall. At least, we shall when everyone's done rolling up their characters. This may be more difficult than I thought it would be...The museum of hoaxes was great.

Steve: The sword is indeed awesome. Falco, eh? I'm still preferring Meta-Knight. I have to learn how to use his down-B more effectively, I hardly use it as it is. His neutral-A aerial and up-B are still his best kill moves, though. Olimar rocks. I discovered something about Wario that I did not previously know: his bite attack will neutralize almost any incoming attack. It eats projectiles (non-energy) and will chomp down on an incoming physical attack without the person getting a chance to respond. Very broken, if used correctly.

Boxing. Feh.

Jake: I will be. When you're done taking all darn day to roll up level 6 characters. And I'll give it to you at some point, rest assured. Probably on my flash drive.

Spam comment: Sigh.

Steve: Well, here I am. Sorry for the wait.

Mom: Again, here I am. Love you too.

Bye. See you again sooner.