Story 230: I Wish I Could See the Near Future

        (Scene: An office with a sign that reads “Wish Fulfillment, LLC” on the door.   The Representative is finishing an appointment with a client)

          Representative: So, with all your forms filed, you can begin flying like a bird starting 8 a.m. tomorrow.

            Client 1: Sweet!

           Representative: (Showing Client 1 to the door) Just make sure not to collide with any actual birds, power lines, and/or drones, and that no other human beings witness you doing this.

            Client 1: Oh.  But –

            Representative: Bye!  (Gives a helpful shove) Next!

           Client 2: (Jumps up from waiting room chair) Ooh-ooh, that’s me!  (Zig-zags through the other seats and zooms past the Representative into the office to sit in the chair in front of the desk)

            Representative: (Gingerly closes the door and returns to sit behind the desk) So, how can we assist you in your Wish Fulfillment, LLC needs today?  Did you get a chance to browse through the catalog?

            Client 2: I did, but my request is a bit more specific than what’s listed.

            Representative: Oh?

            Client 2: Yes: you see, there’s that one package titled “See the Future” that’s the closest match to what I’m looking for –

            Representative: Oh yes, that’s one of our biggest sellers.

            Client 2: Yeah, and the word is that’s also one of your biggest returns.

            Representative: (Eyes blazing) Who said that!?

            Client 2: … The word.

            Representative: (Immediately flares down) I apologize; please continue.

            Client 2: Well, the problem with that one is when you see the future, you see a lot of what you don’t want to see: friends and family dying, freak accidents that chop off your leg, natural disasters that take out the whole neighborhood, repetitively making a fool of yourself, all that garbage.

            Representative: (Chewing lip) Mm-hm?

           Client 2: So, for my package, I don’t want to see the entire future – I just want to be able to see the near future.

            Representative: (Pauses mid-chew) But you’ll still see all of that other stuff anyway.

          Client 2: Maybe, but mostly at will and only if it was happening within the next, oh, 24-48 hours I think would suffice.

            Representative: Wait, you only want to be able to see up to two days into the future at any given time?  What good’ll that do?  If I may be so bold.

            Client 2: You’d be surprised; you wouldn’t believe the number of get-togethers and errands that’ve been messed up all because I didn’t know what obstacles were lying in wait.  I could avoid traffic jams, traffic accidents, weather-related flight cancellations – hm, better make it seven days into the future; the weather’s been absolutely bonkers for the past few decades.

            Representative: You know that you can’t alter your future, right?  What you’ll be seeing is already predetermined and you can’t change it without creating a universe-ending paradox, which company policy strictly forbids – says so right here.  (Retrieves a “See the Future” brochure and points to the fine print on the back) It’s the only way we can maintain our license for that service, I’m afraid.

            Client 2: (Squinting at the fine print and nodding) I understand, but I’m aiming to see situations that I can then avoid to make my life better.  The last straw for me was when I was going to meet up with a friend the other day, and an event I had to attend right before decided to run over by 15 minutes because somebody had to make a speech!  And by the time I realized what was happening, I couldn’t leave because then I’d be that guy!  Until it was super late, then I did leave, so I was both that guy to the speaker and that guy to my friend, who’d been standing there for half an hour wondering where on Earth I was!  It was so unfair for all of us!

            Representative: Yeah, I hate it when stuff like that happens: it’s not really your fault, but it feels like it’s your fault, know what I mean?

            Client 2: Exactly!  And if I had just been able to see the near future, I would have known to leave before the point when it was rude to leave!

            Representative: I see.  Well, this may be doable, but it’ll be a custom package and therefore have additional fees.

            Client 2: That’s quite all right: the peace of mind will be priceless.

           Representative: I’ll draw up the forms for you now; on a personal note, could you let me know in a few weeks how it all turns out?

            Client 2: Sure.  Got a trip planned you want to see whether it gets snowed out?

            Representative: I wish.  No, I just would like to know which days I should call out from work, if you catch my drift.

           Client 2: Why not just get the “Win a Billion Dollars” package and never have to work again?

           Representative: The literal and metaphorical prices for that one are too high.

Story 229: The [Disease] Carrier

            “Aw, man!” the Administrative Assistant whined.

            “What?” his neighboring Admin. asked.

            In a low voice he said, “They want me to work at those Corporate events next week and I thought I had timed my vacation to miss them but I requested off the wrong week!  And now I’m stuck because I can only use the funeral excuse for one day and I need five!  And having to work these things is always so draining; my life is ruined, absolutely ruined!”  He dramatically banged his head on his folded hands resting on the desk, and sighed.

            Looking around her first, the neighboring Admin. leaned in and spoke in a low voice: “Not necessarily.”

            Without looking up: “Hm?”

            “I know someone who can help you, if you’re willing to put up with mild-to-major discomfort and the slight possibility of death.”

            His head popped up: “I’m willing.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

In a dirty, seldom-travelled hallway of the building, the Admin. checked the information on the card he had been given and finally located the door labelled “Boiler Room.”  He knocked and waited a full minute before a disheveled employee answered the door.

“It’s open; you could’ve just come in,” Disheveled said.

“Sorry,” the Admin. replied.  “I didn’t know the protocol; you know, I’ve worked here for eight years and never been down here until now, heh-heh-heh.”

“[Grunt]”

“So!  I was referred here by a colleague to meet with ‘The Carrier,’” he overdid the air quotes, “who I was told could ‘assist’ with a certain ‘problem’ that I ‘have’ – ”

“All right, all right, get in.”  Disheveled opened the door wider and led the Admin. to a chair in front of a desk in an expectedly filthy office.  The former rummaged through a drawer, gave the latter a clipboard and pen, said “Fill it out,” and left.

The Admin., all alone with the creepy-crawlies in the shadows, felt that he would soon be murdered; knowing that the improbability of that triumphs over the possibility, he proceeded to answer the health questions on the 10 double-sided pages attached to the clipboard.  When he finished, he had no idea how to convey that to the person who seemed in charge of this joint.  He was about to make a run for it when Disheveled re-entered the room, grabbed the clipboard out of the Admin.’s hands, and exited, slamming the door behind him.

One of those old-fashioned waiting periods commenced for the Admin., in that he had nothing to do but wait since he had accidentally left his phone on his desk, which he realized also would have come in handy if he needed rescuing, but oh well.  He spent the next who-knows-how-long (since he also never wore watches anymore) counting the floor and ceiling tiles several times over and anticipating each time the furnace would roar to life when he heard someone approach the door.  He braced himself to face Disheveled’s Evil Twin, or, perhaps, Disheveled’s Monstrous Parent.

The door opened and a pleasant, well-dressed woman entered, carrying the clipboard.

“Hello!”  She shook the Admin.’s hand and sat in the chair across from him.  “Sorry for making you come all the way down here and wait – not the most sanitary of conditions, if you know what I mean, but can’t be helped.”  She flipped through the pages he had completed.

He stared at her.  “You’re The Carrier.”

She looked up at him and smiled.  “Oh, that – my title’s actually Supervisor, but my clients tacked that other one on me over the years.  Whatcha gonna do?”  She chuckled, then read from one of the pages: “So, according to this, you’re pretty healthy.”

“Unfortunately, yes.  No one’s going to believe I’m sick for five days without any warning unless it’s something really good.  I was thinking the flu – everyone’s got that this year, right?”

She shook her head.  “No, that’s too much of a wildcard – people die from it, you know, and some of them were pretty healthy themselves.”

“I’ve had it before; I can handle it.”

“Mm-hm, and which strain was it?”

“…There’s more than one?”

She shook her head again.  “Nope, won’t do it; it’ll have to be something else.”

“But I deliberately didn’t get the flu shot this year so I could get some sick days!”

“And that was a stupid reason not to get the shot, but it’s not too late; you should get vaccinated ASAP.  Let’s see,” she flipped through a few pages while he slumped in his seat, “you wrote here that you had chicken pox when you were a kid: I can reactivate that to give you a nice case of the shingles that’ll lay you up for at least a week, if you want.”

“Wait a minute, I thought I can’t get the shingles because I had the chicken pox!”

“Ha!  The virus never left – you might get shingles, you might not, there’s no way to tell.  You’re just a ticking time bomb waiting for the right circumstances to break out in agony.”

He turned green.  “Maybe not that one, then.”

“Leave be as you say.”  She turned to another page.  “What about pertussis?”
            “Percussion?”
            “Whopping cough.  This says you missed the vaccination when you were a baby.”

“Hmm…”  He thought on this, then shook his head.  “Nah, I don’t want to spend the whole time coughing my lungs out, that’ll be exhausting.  Isn’t there one you have that’ll just let me, I dunno, sleep the whole time?  Yeah, how about sleeping sickness?”

“You don’t want that one.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve got it.”  She set the clipboard definitively onto the desk.  “Gastroenteritis with a side-helping of appendicitis.  You’ll be puking for a few days, but if I time it right you’ll be out for at least a week with a nice hospital admission for corroboration.”

“But I don’t want a hospital admission!”  He stood to emphasize his point.  “I just want to call out sick so I don’t have to cover a work event!  Now you’re going to have them cut me open and take my appendix?!  What if I need it?!”

“You’re the one who came here for my help.”  She remained in the chair and folded her arms.

“Yeah, but not to have my organs stolen!  Plus it'll leave a scar!  And I don’t want to be puking!”

“Then the best I can offer is common cold that peaks for four days max.”

He heaved a mighty breath, sat back down in the chair, and grumbled: “I guess if that’s the best you can do….”

She held out new forms and the pen: “Sign these so you can’t sue me later.”  He did so; she then held out another piece of paper and a credit card scanner.  “Now swipe your card here.”

“It’s that much?!”

“This is a very specialized service I offer; it takes a lot of effort to properly titrate all the strains of disease I carry.”

“All right, mumble-mumble.”  He slowly opened his wallet and swiped his card.

In the meantime, she put on a pair of gloves, rolled up his left sleeve, swabbed his inner elbow with a cotton pad, selected a syringe from the multiple rows that lined the inside of her coat, and injected him with it.  “There.  You should be good and sick by 7:30 tonight at the latest.”

“Thanks.”  He rolled down his sleeve and stood to leave as she cleaned up her mini-lab.  “You know, with all that stuff going on in your blood, you probably have the cure for cancer floating around in there and don’t even know it.”

“I doubt it – with all that stuff going on in my blood, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.  Might as well make some money off of it.”

Story 228: I Don’t Have to Argue Anymore

            Friends of convenience while at work, the two employees were eating lunch in the cafeteria when Co-Worker 1’s manager swung by.

            “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Manager said just as Co-Worker 1 had taken a big bite out of a sandwich.  “Just wanted to let you know, that budget report due tomorrow morning?”

            “Mm-hm?”

            “Yeah, you really should re-do your section, make it a little more… presentable, if you will.  I know it’s last minute and you’ll probably have to stay late to finish it, but it’s gotta be done, `K?”

            “Mm-hm.”

            “Great, see you later.”

            Co-Worker 2 stared at Co-Worker 1, who had resumed eating the sandwich.

            “What?”  Co-Worker 1 asked between bites.

            “Just like that?”  Co-Worker 2 counter-asked.

            “Hm?”

           “You just got a boatload of probably unnecessary extra work dumped on you during your lunch break, and you’re not even upset about it?  And you didn’t even argue about how unnecessarily extra it probably is, because it’s extremely unlikely anyone’s going to notice how presentable that thing is or not?”

            “Nah – what’s the point?”  Co-Worker 1 dug into a chocolate pudding with glee.  “It would only sound like I’m whining, I’d be accused of slacking off and making our department look bad, and I’d still get stuck with doing it.”

            “Yeah, but, the principle of the thing!”

            “I used to think as you do,” Co-Worker 1 said, contemplating the spoon.  “I used to argue about the unfairness of it all, when middle management just didn’t seem to get what I was doing, or people in general were just the worst, until that magical day when I finally understood how ineffective that tactic is, and now I don’t have to argue anymore.  I’ve found a much better method of dealing with unpleasantness.”

            “Oh?”

            “Mm-hm: ‘yes’ them to death, then go ahead and do whatever I was going to do anyway.”

            Co-Worker 2 thought this over: “Isn’t that lying?”

           “Not really.  I usually say ‘OK’ as an acknowledgement of what they’ve said.  ‘Yes, I hear what you’re saying’ is all I am conveying, and I continue on as I was before.”

            “Yeah, but it sounds like you’re agreeing to do what they’re saying – you have to have been called on that by now.”

            “Usually variations on the phrase ‘something else came up that took priority’ works, or ‘I looked it over and saw that the original format was more cost-effective,’ or whatever the case may be.  If none else applies, I just say ‘sorry’ with the blatant undertone that I am not but there’s nothing they can do about it without calling me a liar, which no one ever wants to accuse anyone of being unless they’re willing to venture past the societal point of no return.”

            “All right, but are any of those really going to work this time?  I mean, this is your boss telling you to work late; I don’t think other priorities or ‘sorry’ is going to cut it.”

            “You’re absolutely right, so this situation calls for the one-use only ‘I forgot.’  I’ve been saving it for an occasion such as this, because it very easily can be overplayed.”

            “Wow.  This actually sounds like a better way to get along in… everything.  Mind if I borrow it?  I feel like I’ve been arguing with everybody lately because they want me to do stupid stuff that they’re too lazy to do themselves.”

            “By all means – let me know how it works out.”

           That afternoon, Co-Worker 2 was in the middle of a conference call when Co-Worker 3 swung by.

            “Hey,” Co-Worker 3 began; Co-Worker 2 turned off the telephone’s mic so the others on the call would not hear the inevitable shouting.  “So, just wanted to say that I’d appreciate it if you sent your daily e-mails to me first, about half an hour before sending them to everyone else, just so, you know, I get to see them before everyone else.  `K?”

         Co-Worker 2’s first instinct was to detail all the reasons why this was redundant, an unnecessary delay of the information being distributed, of no value to anyone except Co-Worker 3’s ego, and, most importantly, that Co-Worker 3 was not Co-Worker 2’s boss and therefore should not be telling Co-Worker 2 what to do; however, Co-Worker 2 instead said “Mm-hm” and pointedly turned on the phone’s mic while turning slightly away from Co-Worker 3.

            “Great,” Co-Worker 3 whispered, then slunk off saying “Byyyyeeee…”

            After the conference call ended, Co-Worker 2 dialed Co-Worker 1’s extension and relayed what had just happened.

            “And?” Co-Worker 1 asked.

           “You may be on to something.  We’ll see what happens when I keep sending the e-mails to everyone like I normally do.  Maybe I should tell my manager about it?”

          “Only as a last resort – if you escalate this, it’ll just prove that you’re deliberately defying.  This way, the upstart instead has to deal with recurring passive aggression, and most people can’t.”

            “Good point.  I wonder if this also works if someone tries to pick a fist fight?”

            “Hopefully you’ll never have to find out, but it should at least take the wind out of their sails.”