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A long time ago, on a vacation far, far away

I wish I could have a vacation home like five hundred years ago somewhere. Whenever I need to get away, I’d be able to hop back in time and take a temporary break in the not-so-distant past. And I wouldn’t even try to blend in. I mean, what would be the fun in any of that? No, I’d just zap myself right in the middle of town, a big public entrance, just to show everybody how powerful I am.

I’d wear my regular clothes, and I’d have small-talk with whoever happened to be around, but then I’d head off just outside of the community. I’d have a totally modern house, with everything, Internet, TV, all of my modern appliances. The house itself, it would just be in the past.

Also, I’d be totally untouchable. I’m talking about defense. Like, if anybody tried to overpower my futuristic abode, or try to kidnap me on my way back to the present, it just wouldn’t work. I’d have like a portable cloaking device or a random force-field generator. I don’t know.

And all I’d do is just kind of rub it in how awesome the future is. Maybe I’d let some of the townsfolk take a tour, I’d show them a cool movie on my giant projection screen. What kind of movie would it be? I could play them a period piece, something like Apocalypto or Braveheart. Or maybe I’d just pop in a copy of something totally crazy, like Star Wars, and I wouldn’t explain anything. In fact, I wouldn’t even be watching the movie. My entertainment would be totally derived from watching everyone else try to make sense of what’s going on in the movie.

Maybe I could teach them how to play basketball or baseball. Maybe I could really insert myself into the history of the sport. Although, I guess for continuity’s sake, my visits shouldn’t really disrupt the space-time continuum. Like, I visit, I leave, but nothing changes in the present.

So would any of it even be real? What would be the point of doing anything if there weren’t at least the potential for mild consequences?

Maybe it wouldn’t be as cool as I’m imagining it to be. Maybe I should just take a vacation upstate, get some fresh mountain air. Or something beachy, like, I don’t know, some beach somewhere. I’ll just order like ten piña coladas and fall asleep in the hot tub.

And it was all a dream

I was getting ready to jump out of the plane, but just as I peered over the edge, something kept me from pushing myself through that invisible membrane separating me from terminal velocity. What was it? I couldn’t be sure, so I tried to shake it. Just nerves, I told myself. Still, I tried to jump one more time and it was the same, no good. What had gotten into me?

So I resolved to sit this one out. But Rick, my old trainer, the guy who’d taught me everything I know about skydiving, maybe he saw something that I didn’t. Maybe he had been there before, somewhat new, but enough dives under his belt to mistake the momentary hesitation for what it really was, doubt, fear, crippling anxiety. “Don’t be such a …” was all that I heard, because Rick had pushed me out midsentence, and in less than I second I went from being on the plane, to the plane disappearing above me.

The unexpected shove jolted my senses, like when your hot shower goes suddenly ice cold. But it didn’t take long for me to come to terms with how it went down. And now that I was in free fall, the familiarity of the rush started to kick in, clearing my head. A heartbeat later and I was back to where I always was, falling, flying, whatever, just pure adrenaline induced euphoria.

But the very instant before my altimeter alerted me that it was about time to deploy the shoot, it hit me, the reason that I was so reluctant to step off of that plane. The chord. I don’t know why, or for reason, but I knew that it wasn’t going to work. The idea that I was by myself up here, coupled with the lack of any details, it stopped my breath, it was like I was in the beginnings of a panic attack.

While my brain stumbled through a replay of my preparations this morning, my equipment check, refueling the tank, I couldn’t for sure identify that all of these little steps, steps that I’ve completed dozens of times by now, I wasn’t positive if they were from today or yesterday or the week before. Finally my hands took control of the situation and gripped the handle sticking out of the left side of the backpack.

And I pulled. And nothing. I pulled a little harder. It was the same. I was dead.

I thought, what do I do? Can I try to take the pack off my back, somehow go through it in mid-fall, identify the problem, fix the problem, get the pack strapped back on, with enough time to successfully open up the chute? Because the ground was coming fast. It’s like, those first few thousand feet, yeah, you feel the wind, but the surface is so far away, it doesn’t even really look like you’re moving in relation to anything down below.

But now, I was seeing less and less of certain objects in the horizon. My mind kept jumping forward, all the way to the automatic conclusion. My body cringed as I imagined what it would feel like, if I’d even have time to feel anything at all. Would death really be instant? Or would I kind of exist in a breathless state of panic while my surviving brain cells slowly shut down due to lack of oxygen?

Could I somehow make it through this? I mean, it was at least technically possible. I’ve heard of people walking away from stuff like this. Well, if not walking, at least breathing. Would it be enough to just breath? Should I try to get my body to start rolling the second I make contact with the ground?

A thousand questions, a million different thought fragments, mostly just emotions, fight, flight, instinct into overdrive.

And then just before I started totally freaking out, arms flailing uselessly in the sky, my bladder releasing its contents into my jumpsuit, just before the ground came right up to my face, I woke up.

I was in my bed. I’ve never been skydiving. What the hell man, I’ve never been on a small plane. Fuck that, are you crazy? Wow, it just felt so real. But it wasn’t real. It was a dream.

I thought I was about to fall to my death, but I didn’t, because I woke up. Because it was all a dream.

My action figures

I have these two Marvel Comics action figures on my desk. They’re from when I was a little kid. For some reason, out of all of the toys that I had growing up, these little plastic Wolverine and Deadpool figures are really the only ones that made it, to still being a part of my life, even if they only exist in a background kind of way. You think about Toy Story, right, you think about Buzz and Woody having to deal with the inevitability of getting tossed to the curb. But not these two. They’re right here on this desk.

I think I got them when I was in the second or third grade, and twenty-two years later, these guys look pretty good. It’s not like I’ve taken special care of them or anything. As soon as I got them, for Christmas, a birthday, I can’t even remember, they were torn out of the packaging, whatever tiny guns and knives that fit into their molded plastic hands were almost immediately lost.

I never really understood action figures, even as a little kid. I knew that I was supposed to want them. Every commercial on TV told me so. But I never knew what to do with them. Like, are you supposed to hold one in each hand and make them interact?

They’re cool decorations I guess. But that’s about it. Although I didn’t have the biggest collection out of all of my friends, I definitely wasn’t lacking. I had a bunch of superhero stuff. I remember one time I went to the comic book store and saw this Mr. Fantastic action figure. “With fantastic stretching powers!” the box read, and in my mind I imagined some sort of a cool bendable Gumby-like guy. But when I finally got to pick out a toy for whatever reason you let a little kid pick out a twelve-dollar toy at a comic book store, I was really disappointed that it wasn’t really a stretching toy at all. The limbs just kind of clicked out by maybe a centimeter or two, giving him a weird stick-figure appearance.

I didn’t really enjoy playing with action figures, but it was the only real currency that boys in my class dealt with. Not that you’d ever exchange them. But just having the most, a big collection. It was important. In addition to super hero action figures I also had wrestling action figures, Ghost Busters actions figures, Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles.

It’s all pretty dumb, all of the stuff I valued as a little kid. Pogs were fucking stupid. Let’s get a bunch of kids to beg their parents for a dollar so they can buy a bunch of cardboard chips at Seven-Eleven. And again, a part of me knew that these were stupid too, that I was forcing myself to have fun presenting my pog collection for the approval of my ten-year-old peers. But everybody was faking the same excitement, what would I have done, just sat it out? What else would I have had? Nothing.

In addition to the Wolverine and Deadpool, I definitely had a Spider-Man figure that lasted all the way past college. In my first apartment after I graduated, I definitely remember stringing a thread through his plastic hands and taping it to the ceiling, making it look like he was in mid-swing. And then, I don’t know, somewhere along the line, packing my stuff into boxes, unpacking everything, I have no idea what happened to that Spider-Man.

So now it’s just the two, that’s all that I have left of my action figures. Recently Wolverine’s arm snapped off below the elbow, and that kind of sucked, but I reattached it with duct tape, and so, I don’t know, now he looks battle-hardened.

I’ve always kept them standing up at the back of the desk, but these are old toys, there’s a little bit of play in the joints. It’s hard to get them on really firm footing. I’d stand them up, and not right away, but definitely by the end of the day, they’d just fall over. It was getting to be a distraction, the constantly trying to find the right balance, positioning their limbs in such a way to try and foster some stability. Finally I tried wedging one of Wolverine’s claws inside of Deadpool’s hands, like where one his knives used to go.

And it worked. They look like they’re holding hands, yeah, but they haven’t fallen over in weeks. It’s like four legs of a table, ultimate stability. And yeah, the positioning is awkward, but now that I don’t have to fiddle with them every day, it’s easier for my brain to have them just melt into the background. They only pop out once in a while, and it looks like they’re holding on to each other. Or they’re fighting. They’re seeing which one is going to outlast the other. Because I think about myself as an old man, fifty, sixty years from now. Maybe I’ll have one. That would be cool. Holding on to both would be really cool, but it’s just realistically not going to happen. If I could make a chart, the number of action figures I’ve had, over time, and I graphed it out to the present day, there’d be a clear line pointing down. And I really don’t have any reason to think that the decline is over. So no, I’ll probably be lucky to wind up with just one.

Agoraphobia

I was at this trivia night at a bar by my place a few nights ago, and one of the questions was, “Agoraphobia is the fear of what?” And I knew it, I’ve heard this trivia question a thousand times before. I told my friends, “I got this,” as I snatched the answer card from the middle of the table, and I started writing right away, “Fear of open spaces.”

And my friend Bill objected, “Rob, you can’t just write stuff in without consulting the group.” But I knew it, OK, “Bill, I one hundred percent know the answer to this question, all right? It’s agoraphobia. It’s a fear of open spaces. It’s the opposite of claustrophobia. OK?”

“OK Rob, that’s fine, but it’d still be cool if you could just talk it out with the rest of the group before you just grab the pad, OK?”

And I said, “Bill, do you have a better answer? Do you have a different definition for agoraphobia?” And he didn’t. So that was that.

Only, when they were reading the answers back, the announcer said, “Agoraphobia is: the fear of leaving your house.” And I said to my table, “Do you think she’ll count our answer?” Because, yeah, it was kind of the same answer. They were worded totally differently. But if you think about it, right, claustrophobia is that fear of being cooped up, right, and so if you want to be cooped up, like if you like hanging out inside, that’s the opposite. You’re going to be agoraphobic.

So I waited until the end of that round and I went up to the quizmaster, she was busy putting everybody’s scores into the computer, but I just needed her attention for a second. “Hey, quizmaster, remember that agoraphobia question from before? Did you accept our answer? Fear of open spaces?”

And she looked up at me and was like, “Agora-what? Huh?”

“Yeah, from before, agoraphobia.”

And she put down what she was doing and clicked a few times on the computer screen before reading something out loud, word for word, “Agoraphobia is the fear of leaving your house.” Even the intonation was identical, she repeated it exactly like she said it the first time.

“Right, I remember the answer. But we wrote fear of open spaces. Which is kind of like a similar way of saying what you said, right? Because trust me, I know this answer.”

“Look man, I have to go by what’s on the computer, OK, so, I probably didn’t give you guys credit for agoraphobia. Sorry dude.”

And I took out my phone, because while she was busy butchering the answers to well known questions, I just had to double check, on the Internet. I found some Google search and I was like, “Look, just take a look here …”

“Dude, I just have to go by the computer, all right? And seriously, no cell phones during trivia night, OK, that’s not cool, I could disqualify you.”

And so, whatever, she wasn’t budging. Of course I felt like she was on a power trip, I mean, give me a trivia mic and I’d probably be just as ruthless. But this wasn’t fair. And when I got back to the table, Bill made sure to position the pen and pad like totally across the table from where I was sitting.

We were in a six-way tie for third place for most of the next two rounds, and everyone kept giving me the stink-eye, making sure to remind me that we could have been in a five-way tie for second. “Are you one hundred percent sure?” Chris said, mocking my self-assuredness from before, every time I pitched an answer to the rest of the team.

It was useless. Even if nobody knew the following answers, they’d never give any of my wildcard guesses a shot. Whatever, there was a music round later in the night, and we only got like two or three answers, so even if we had scored that agoraphobia, it wouldn’t have done us much good.

“Besides,” I kept badgering Bill on the way out the door, “Did you have a better answer for agoraphobia? Did any of you?” And nobody answered. Because nobody did.

And then when I went home, I went on my computer to really get a full-screen definition of agoraphobia. And this one web site said, “It’s not the opposite of claustrophobia. It’s a fear of any situation in which there is no escape.”

Which, that includes an open space right? Come on, I remember so clearly studying for the SATs, agoraphobia, the fear of open spaces. Where is all this stuff about anxiety and panic attacks coming from? Isn’t that just like a fear of everything? And even if that’s the case, don’t open spaces also fall into that category of everything?

I’m just saying, man, agoraphobia, if they’re going to run a trivia night, I’m not saying the quizmaster needs to know everything, but just a general familiarity with basic stuff, that would be nice. Doesn’t that seem like a quizmaster prerequisite? Right?

I’m sorry but, you’re fired

I just don’t think we have any room for you here, not enough room, not with these numbers. What are we supposed to tell the shareholders? Nobody wants to see you go, well, nobody except for Maggie, but her objections … well, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Let’s just say that … I can assure you that Maggie had nothing to do with … with this. And between you and me, Maggie’s not going to make the next round of cuts. So don’t think of this as Maggie over you, I mean, nobody’s winning here. Sure, it might be hard to walk out of this office and not notice Maggie sitting there pretending not to smirk, but just think …

You know what? Forget I said anything about Maggie. And please don’t tell her what I just told you. Because if she confronts me … look, I’m going to be real with you here. I’m thinking that we’re going to fire Maggie. But I shouldn’t have told you that. I see now how that was a mistake. But I can’t take it back, and I’m realizing now how you don’t have anything to lose, because we’re already letting you go, and so I’m sure getting in Maggie’s face and telling her what I just accidentally told you, I’d bet that would bring some measure of satisfaction. I can see her just sitting there, not looking up at you, but smirking, smiling as you pack up everything from your desk into those boxes.

I don’t know why they make us give you these boxes. I mean, do you really have many personal belongings here? At work? Sure, I guess I’ve got these photos, although, I’m not really attached to any of them. If I were in your position, I’d gladly leave everything here, “You get rid of them,” I’d tell whoever shoved a box in my face, telling me, I have to be out of here by the end of the day. Of course, if I were in your position, I wouldn’t be in my position right now, and so I guess they wouldn’t be my picture frames. Would they be yours? No, that doesn’t make any sense.

What I’m trying to say is, jeez, I really shouldn’t have brought up Maggie. Look, I’ll be straight with you here, OK, if you tell Maggie what I just told you, I’m going to have to deny it. All right, Maggie’s going to come storming in here, talk about lack of professionalism, because again, I really shouldn’t have said anything. Do you know that you’re one of my first firings? Not the first. But definitely the second. The first one was Charles a while back, but he probably knew it was coming. And in his case, I think I said too little. I’m not sure I got across the whole let go aspect of the termination. Is he still coming in? Regardless, that definitely went a lot smoother than this is going right now.

Basically, if you tell Maggie, I’ll deny it. And it won’t end there, OK, because I can’t deny it and then fire her next week. She’ll be like, “I knew it!” And I can’t take that, not from Maggie, jeez. And so I’ll have to keep her on, indefinitely, probably. And so do you want that? You want her to keep her job? Or do you want her to get fired?

Obviously we haven’t made any final decisions regarding Maggie, or any of the cuts really, I’m just thinking that, there’s no way she makes it past next week. Which, yeah, it’s just unfortunate, you know, the whole company is just resizing or rescaling, or restructuring, what do you call it? There’s a lot of rebranding. Like this is new for me, letting people go, that’s like a rebranding. Man, I hope this gets easier. For me, I mean, you seem to be taking it all in stride.

And who knows? I mean, it was a bad quarter, yeah, and it sucks that we kind of have to go quarter to quarter here, but what if the next quarter is good? What if it’s really good? We’re probably going to be looking at some un-restructuring, which, I think you’d have to talk to HR again, I don’t know if they’d make you go through the whole interview process. Did you interview with me? When you first started? I mean, so yeah, you probably wouldn’t get me again, not unless they re-rebrand me back to hiring. Right now it’s strictly firing.

Not firing, you know, let go. Man, thanks for being so cool about this. Like especially in regards to Maggie. I seriously can’t stress enough how much I shouldn’t have brought her into this, OK. And like I said, even though I’m pretty sure we’re going to let her go, she’s definitely staying if she confronts me with any of this. Hell, I’ll suggest she gets promoted. So yeah, just keep your chin up, all right. Do you need a box? Because I have all of these boxes if you need to … like if you want to carry anything out. Yeah, I don’t really get the boxes.

But just, you see her smiling, just don’t even smile back OK. Just have like an inside smile, the smile of satisfaction that you get from me telling you … I mean, I’m not telling you … but I’m telling you telling you, Maggie’s out. But only if you don’t even look her way. Because any sort of nonverbal communication, like even a knowing smirk, OK, and she stays. Cool? All right. Sorry to see you go. Best of luck out there. You’ll be fine.

Hey, we should grab drinks sometime, now that I’m not your boss anymore. Ha. All right. Can you send in Rich on your way back to the desk? You know what? I should probably get him myself. Don’t worry about Rich. All right. Great. Thanks.