Chances Aren't by Luke Young Page B
Authors: Luke Young
Tags: Humorous, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Satire, Time travel, American, Romantic Comedy, General Humor, Humor & Satire
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three."
"Wait, aren’t you going to get me there?"
He shakes his head no.
"Can't you just blink your eyes and, you know…" I fold my arms in front of me like I Dream of Jeannie and blink. "... work some magic?"
He glares at me.
"Seriously, you can't get me there?" I ask.
"I can't spend any more time with you. I've got other things I need to be doing."
"Like what?"
"That's classified."
"Classified? How can that be—"
"Remember what I said about being an asshole."
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
"Remember don't waste this opportunity."
I nod as he turns and walks away, heading back toward the trees.
Standing still for a moment, I take stock of my situation. I pat my pockets and feel my car keys in one side and my cell phone in the other. I pull out the key fob to my 2012 Mini Cooper, midlife crisis car and head toward my assigned parking space. Part of me is expecting to see my car there, but of course it is not. I pull out my cell phone. It's an iPhone 5 and I push the button to bring it to life and punch in my security code. It powers up, and for some reason I'm not surprised. The power meter shows 59%, but the signal strength bar is completely blank. Now, for some reason this surprises me. I'm not thinking all that clearly for obvious reasons. I touch my email icon and it displays a "no connection available" message.
"Okay," I mumble to myself slipping the phone back into my pocket.
I pull out my wallet and look inside. Everything is as I remember it. My driver's license, credit cards with their 2015 expiration dates and forty eight dollars in cash— the bills marked series 2009. This could be a problem.
I desperately want to find a mirror and jerk off. Wait, that came out wrong— I don't want to watch myself jerk off in a mirror, I want to check my current looks and separately I want to perform one of my, hell, most guy's favorite activities but with my new, or should I say old, and improved equipment. Both those items need to wait; I've got more pressing things to deal with, specifically getting my ass to College Park in less than three hours. It could easily be a two-hour drive the day before a national holiday in rush-hour traffic.
I walk toward the front of the building. Ahead of me is a nervous looking guy in his mid-twenties walking through the front door. I follow him in. He heads to the guard desk and says, "I have an interview with Greg Marshal. I'm Tim Watkins."
"Please have a seat."
I smile. This is my chance.
Picking up the phone, the guard dials a number. "Mr. Marshal, Tim Watkins is down here." When he hangs up the phone, he turns his attention to the young guy. "He'll be right down."
The guard makes eye contact with me. I stammer, "Um, I'm here to pick someone up. They're coming soon."
He nods and returns his eyes to something on the desk. Sitting down in a chair next to Tim, I wait. Minutes later a man appears from around the corner, smiling with his hand extended. "Tim, good to meet you."
I recognize Greg instantly. He must be about forty and looks pretty good for his age. Tim rises up and puts out his hand. The two meet in the center of the lobby and shake.
I don't make a move to stand or say anything. I just sit there as if Greg will somehow recognize me, smile and rush over to shoot the shit. Ridiculous, I know, but give me a break, I'm new at this time travel crap.
Heading toward the hall with Tim following, Greg asks, "Did you have any trouble finding us?"
Finally coming to my senses, I spring up from the chair and loudly say, "Greg."
Turning, Greg gives me a wide-eyed look but doesn't say anything.
"Greg." I repeat as I walk toward him.
He moves to meet me in the center of the lobby, giving me a confused look. "Yes."
"Can I speak to you for a few minutes? It's—"
"If you're applying for the job, you can drop your resume off at H.R. and we'll give you a call."
I shake my head. "No, I'm not applying for a job."
"Look, if you're selling something then—"
"No, I really just
"Wait, aren’t you going to get me there?"
He shakes his head no.
"Can't you just blink your eyes and, you know…" I fold my arms in front of me like I Dream of Jeannie and blink. "... work some magic?"
He glares at me.
"Seriously, you can't get me there?" I ask.
"I can't spend any more time with you. I've got other things I need to be doing."
"Like what?"
"That's classified."
"Classified? How can that be—"
"Remember what I said about being an asshole."
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
"Remember don't waste this opportunity."
I nod as he turns and walks away, heading back toward the trees.
Standing still for a moment, I take stock of my situation. I pat my pockets and feel my car keys in one side and my cell phone in the other. I pull out the key fob to my 2012 Mini Cooper, midlife crisis car and head toward my assigned parking space. Part of me is expecting to see my car there, but of course it is not. I pull out my cell phone. It's an iPhone 5 and I push the button to bring it to life and punch in my security code. It powers up, and for some reason I'm not surprised. The power meter shows 59%, but the signal strength bar is completely blank. Now, for some reason this surprises me. I'm not thinking all that clearly for obvious reasons. I touch my email icon and it displays a "no connection available" message.
"Okay," I mumble to myself slipping the phone back into my pocket.
I pull out my wallet and look inside. Everything is as I remember it. My driver's license, credit cards with their 2015 expiration dates and forty eight dollars in cash— the bills marked series 2009. This could be a problem.
I desperately want to find a mirror and jerk off. Wait, that came out wrong— I don't want to watch myself jerk off in a mirror, I want to check my current looks and separately I want to perform one of my, hell, most guy's favorite activities but with my new, or should I say old, and improved equipment. Both those items need to wait; I've got more pressing things to deal with, specifically getting my ass to College Park in less than three hours. It could easily be a two-hour drive the day before a national holiday in rush-hour traffic.
I walk toward the front of the building. Ahead of me is a nervous looking guy in his mid-twenties walking through the front door. I follow him in. He heads to the guard desk and says, "I have an interview with Greg Marshal. I'm Tim Watkins."
"Please have a seat."
I smile. This is my chance.
Picking up the phone, the guard dials a number. "Mr. Marshal, Tim Watkins is down here." When he hangs up the phone, he turns his attention to the young guy. "He'll be right down."
The guard makes eye contact with me. I stammer, "Um, I'm here to pick someone up. They're coming soon."
He nods and returns his eyes to something on the desk. Sitting down in a chair next to Tim, I wait. Minutes later a man appears from around the corner, smiling with his hand extended. "Tim, good to meet you."
I recognize Greg instantly. He must be about forty and looks pretty good for his age. Tim rises up and puts out his hand. The two meet in the center of the lobby and shake.
I don't make a move to stand or say anything. I just sit there as if Greg will somehow recognize me, smile and rush over to shoot the shit. Ridiculous, I know, but give me a break, I'm new at this time travel crap.
Heading toward the hall with Tim following, Greg asks, "Did you have any trouble finding us?"
Finally coming to my senses, I spring up from the chair and loudly say, "Greg."
Turning, Greg gives me a wide-eyed look but doesn't say anything.
"Greg." I repeat as I walk toward him.
He moves to meet me in the center of the lobby, giving me a confused look. "Yes."
"Can I speak to you for a few minutes? It's—"
"If you're applying for the job, you can drop your resume off at H.R. and we'll give you a call."
I shake my head. "No, I'm not applying for a job."
"Look, if you're selling something then—"
"No, I really just
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