Story 236: Unnecessary Detours

            Captain’s Log, Sol Date 5032018: In desperate need, I have made the drastic decision to take the ship back in time, to Earth of the early 21^st century.  Let it be noted in the log that I would not have done this if there had been any other alternative – however, time is of the essence and the only way to complete our mission, and just possibly save the galaxy, is to go back in it.  Time, I mean, not the galaxy.  Computer, delete those last two sentences, I want to rephrase that.

            Computer: Unable to comply: all audio recording is permanent, so get it right the first time.

            Snippy.  Therefore, I and the ship’s Navigator have found ourselves somewhere in the middle of the continent of North America at some point in the first half of the year two thousand and eighteen.  We approximated our landing close to the coordinates of our goal; however, it was not close enough so we have been compelled to commandeer local transportation.

           (In a four-door sedan covered in motley bumper stickers, the Captain and the Navigator travel through the expanses of suburbia)

            Navigator: (Looking at a hand-held computer) There should be a hard turn to port here, sir.

            Captain: (Driving) Negative – that’s a resident’s landing strip.  Keep searching, Lieutenant.

          Navigator: Aye-aye, Captain.  (Looks down the road) There appears to be a sign that states “Detour” directly off the starboard bow, sir.

            Captain: All engines, full reverse!

            Navigator: With all due respect, sir, you have complete navigational control of this vehicle.

           Captain: Ah yes.  (Slams on the brakes; the cars behind them screech to a halt and blare their horns.  The Captain rolls down the window) At ease, citizens of Earth!

            Navigator: I also should point out, Captain –

        Captain: Yes Lieutenant, feel free to speak, what’s on your mind, don’t hold back vital information, out with it!

            Navigator: – by following the directions posted on such signs, we still should be able to arrive at our intended destination.  According to my calculations, sir.

            Captain: Very well, then: so that we do not miss any of these “Detour” signs, we will proceed at one-quarter impulse.  (Proceeds at 15 mph below the speed limit, with a line of angry, honking drivers behind them)

         Captain’s Log: Supplemental.  We have located several signs containing the same word “Detour” that appear to be leading us to our intended destination, albeit in a circuitous manner –

            Navigator: With all due respect, sir, that is literally what we had just discussed five minutes ago.

            Captain: I am catching the audience up after the commercial break, Lieutenant!

            Navigator: Aye, sir.

          Sign after sign appears on our trajectory, yet we seem to be no closer to our goal.  Plus the Navigator lately has been getting on my nerves.

            Navigator: Sir, I would be remiss if I failed to mention that you are close to passing the next sign.

            Captain: Got it!  (Cuts across two lanes of traffic to turn from the highway onto a side street, nearly causing five accidents and almost bottoming out) Well, this is a peaceful stretch of space.

            Navigator: (Shaking) It is now, sir.  (Checks computer) Our destination lies within this next starboard turn.

            Captain: At last, we can finally embark upon our mission.  (Turns the car right and is faced with a “Road Closed” sign.  Stops the car and faces the Navigator) Did we miss a sign back there?

          Navigator: (Still checking the computer) No, they all led to this point in the space-time continuum – oh.

             Captain: I do not like to hear “Oh,” Lieutenant.

           Navigator: If I am understanding the data correctly, sir, I believe that first “Detour” sign was meant for those travelers who wanted to arrive at this end of the street.

            Captain: Explain.

            Navigator: I remember there was a second sign underneath it that stated we could reach our destination on this street but that a bridge was impassable, so I presumed the intention was that we could reach our destination after navigating through the detours.  Now, however, I believe the intention was that we still could reach our destination by entering that end of the street.

            Captain: …And the detour was only if we had wanted to get to this end of the street.  (Slumps head onto the steering wheel)

          Navigator: I assume full responsibility for this error, Captain, although I think that all the time travelling we do regularly has begun to affect my judgement –

            Captain: (Sits up again and begins turning the car around, narrowly avoiding two mailboxes and a random dog) You will not berate yourself, Lieutenant!  As the senior officer, I assume full responsibility for every single action of every soul under my command, no matter who messed up what where when why and how!  (Lurches the car forward) Besides, it was a mistake anyone from a different time period could have made, don’t blame yourself, all that matters is we’re safe and that we complete our mission, and get on the sidewalk, pedestrian!  (The car reverses its course through the streets)

            Navigator: Sir, what if we have lost so much time doing all this that we are now too late to save the ship?  And the galaxy?

            Captain: Well that’s the great thing about time travel, isn’t it?  There’s no such thing as “too late,” because we can always just go back and do it all over again!

Story 235: Accidentally Helping the Environment

            She woke up to see the hotel alarm clock was exactly half an hour after the time the alarm was supposed to have gone off.

            “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….” was her siren call as she sprang out of bed, into some clothes and shoes over her pajamas, and down the hall with her lone bag, dropping a fiver for the housekeeper on the way out.

            “…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….” she continued down four flights of stairs, through the lobby as she tossed her room key in the general direction of the concierge desk, through the revolving door, and onto the bus idling right outside.

            “…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa – ” she was cut off as she ran all the way to the back of the full bus and crashed into the rear seats.  She took a deep breath, saw everyone staring at her, and chose to exhale instead of finishing her sentence.

            The bus immediately closed the doors and drove off, so she settled down into her seat and took a brief nap to recover from her morning workout.  She woke up hungry when the bus lurched to a stop; she looked out the window and confusedly stared at a welcoming beach.  Everyone else filed out, but she searched through her bag for her tour group itinerary to double-check: she could have sworn that day was set for the trip to the human anatomy museum –

            “Everybody out!” someone in authority proclaimed.  Must have changed tour guides at the hotel, she thought as she brought up the rear of the disembarkees.

            She still fumbled through her bag as she shuffled behind the group; she realized she also must have missed when they were distributing the matching hats and T-shirts, because she was the only one dressed in civvies.

            A clipboard-wielding volunteer approached her: “Hi!  You’re with these guys?”

            “Uh, yeah, I – ” fumble, fumble, fumble, “I, uh, I – ”

            “You can just hop on a group of three; here’s some gloves – ” gloves were handed to her – “don’t walk on the dunes, and don’t touch any syringes!”

            “What?”

            “Thank you for what you’re doing!”  And they moved on.

            She stared at the gloves.  Was there an archaeological dig scheduled on this trip?  Her missing itinerary would need to explain itself later.

            She followed the T-shirts and found a random group of three; she cursed herself for never remembering the names of anyone she met unless they had been repeated to her at least four times, and faces were a lost cause.  She smiled at each and eagerly followed them on to their beach adventure....

            About two minutes in, it became apparent that this was the most disgusting beach that ever existed on a supposedly fun-filled getaway: among the pounds of broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, candy wrappers, busted balloons, and dog poop bags, she felt she could never face a beach again without seeing it as one giant misplaced garbage can.

            “I found another soda can tab!”

            “Got it!”

            She saw the members of her group and all the others from her bus were actually picking up the pieces of trash they were forced to encounter, and then taking notes on a huge card – had their tour group been recruited by the local Parks Department to do their job for them as part of the admission fee?!

            Not wanting to be the only one setting up her umbrella, mat, and boombox while everyone else was working wholeheartedly on their unexciting scavenger hunt, she slowly pulled on the gloves, set aside her bag, and began scooping up all the gross fishing lures and plastic cutlery she saw within a two-foot radius, which was a lot.

            “Wait!  How many were there?”  One of her group was pointing at what she had just dumped in a trash bag that they were dragging around on their excursion.

            “What?  I dunno, five maybe?”  What difference did it make?  One was too many, in her opinion, and they apparently were surrounded by millions.

            The group member wrote notes on the card.  “Uh-huh, and were they all glass?”

            “Uh, no, I think there was a bit of string stuck in there too, yuck.”

            “Plastic or cloth?”

            “The blazes I know!”

            The recorder scrambled through the scummy trash bag, pulled out the string, and nodded.  “Plastic.  And it actually goes in this garbage bag – ” they held up a black bag – “`cause the white one’s for recycling.”

            “…OK.  So how long do we have to keep doing this?”

            “About four hours.”

            Her eyes widened and veins popped out as her companion was called away to take note of some other piece of filth.  She grabbed the arm of the remaining group member: “When’s the trip?”

            She got a blank stare: “This is the trip.”

            She released the arm and made a note to self that she had to have a serious discussion with her travel agent as soon as she could safely escape her escorts.

            “Wow, a shotgun shell!”

            “That’s actually on the list!”

            She wandered with them as they gleefully scooped up water bottles, shattered mugs, and someone’s lost friendship bracelet; to appear busy, she took her time planting a biohazard flag next to a diaper that brazenly crossed their path.  Rounding a dune, she spotted the mother lode:

            “Hey guys!”  Her group turned to her as she hoisted an anchor above her head.  “Should this go in trash or recycling?”

            The recorder blinked.  “I think we’ll put a flag next to it for pickup later.”

            “Suit yourself!”  She let it crash back to the sand.

            At the four-hour mark, they all headed back to the parking lot with their abominable treasures and scientific catalog of waste, exhausted yet joyful with the good deeds they had done that day.

            “I feel that I am a better person because of all this,” she half-said to herself as she settled in her comfy seat at the back of the bus.  “The world is now a cleaner place because of me, and the fish and birds can swim and fly free of the detritus that would have severely hindered their lifestyles, all because I was there to make things right with Mother Nature.  The world will now live, and it’s all thanks to me.”

            “All right, folks,” the person in authority addressed them from the front of the bus.  “Rest up as much as you can, `cause we’re hitting the other two beaches before dinner.”

            “WHAT?!”