Okay, so here goes.
Don't yell at me when you don't believe me.
Don't tell me to go find the nearest mental asylum and turn myself in.
You asked for this.
You asked what I found.
And I'll tell you.
I found a time travel machine.
I know, I didn't believe it either when I walked into the dingy little port-a-potty in downtown LA, but there it was. I sat down to take a...well, to make use of the toilet, when suddenly, everything started shaking!
I thought it was just some stupid college students, thinking they were funny, but there were no drunken laughs, or even sober ones. There was merely the wind howling in my ears and the nasty sloshing sound of whatever was below my tush.
I hesitantly wiped, pulled up my pants, and sanitized, then opened the door. Imagine my surprise when, instead of finding a bunch of dorks that think rocking an unsanitary piece of unholy hell is entertaining, I found a man watching me. He narrowed his eyes and walked away.
That's when I noticed his getup.
Tight jeans and a white shirt, paired with a leather jacket, like some sort of biker wanna-be. I snorted and shook my head. He whipped around and glared at me, then stalked angrily closer.
"Hey, airhead," he'd grunted in the typical steriod-injected-jock way. "You might want to book it before your buggin' attitude gets you a fresh one."
I couldn't tell if he was on drugs or if I suddenly wasn't an English speaker anymore.
"Where am I?" I asked politely.
"Get bent," he replied with a sneer. "You been using a bean? We're in the park in Las Angeles, bimbette."
He leered at my tank top and shorts.
I promptly turned around and walked back into the port-a-potty. I flipped the handle so the door was latched shut, and I sat down on the germ-infested seat.
The rocking began again.
"Quit that!" I yelled, fed up with these awful college kids.
And then I thought to myself...
What if it hadn't been college students? What if it was something else completely?
Like a time machine?
The rocking stopped, and I stepped out again.
I was definitely back in my time. I ran to my car and fired it up. The engine had barely begun to roar before I gunned it to the college, where I knew a renowned history prof was grading papers.
I bolted through the doors, ignoring the security guard's cry of surprise, and dashed up the stairs, making rapid turns in a frenzy of alarm. Was I going crazy? Was I crazy?
I ignored those thoughts and shoved open the door, racing down the steps like my life depended on it.
I wasn't quite sure it didn't.
Anywho, I slammed my hands down on the prof's desk, breathing heavily (don't judge me, I was out of shape- unless you count slightly [to put it politely] round as a shape, then I was totally in shape). I quickly explained the conversation I'd had with wanna-be-biker-dude and asked if people used to speak like that.
The prof quirked one bushy grey eyebrow at me and stared at me for a moment before beginning to speak. "That is what we older folks like to call 80's-lingo. Yes, miss, people did used to speak like that- in the 1980s. Now would you kindly tell me who you are?"
I frowned- he knew me. Granted, we only met a few days ag- oh.
Time machine.
Few days in the past.
Got it.
And that's the story of how I found a time machine, got transported to 1980 for a few unfortunate moments, and came back and had to relive a few days of my life.
Eventful?
Perhaps.
Interesting?
Definitely.
Something I'd want to happen again?
Not even if I were immortal.
But that's another story.
Okay, so I know these were supposed to be submitted before New Years, but will this work?
(If not, that's okay. It was good writing practice, lol. See how you can write in so much time and whatnot.) |
