Today started off as a disaster. I emailed my boss to let him know I’d overslept, was locked out of my apartment, and was going to be very, very, very late.
This is what I got as a reply:
I picture it this way…
You stepped out your apartment door, keys left on your kitchenette table. The door locks. You panic. With backpack and iPhone in hand you begin to try every way to break into you apartment. Somebody notices. The police are called. Despite your protests and explanations, you’re taken in, backpack and iPhone impounded. The ride to the station is not direct. Three other arrestees are packed in to the back seat of the squad car—a prostitute, a drug dealer, and a rabbi.
The prostitute asks, “What are you in for?”, but before you can answer there’s a loud crash. Something hit the squad car. Something big. The force of the impact has sheared the left side of the car off. The officer driving has disappeared (though you surmise the puddle of goo and fragments of blue cloth near what once was the front seat may be all that’s left of the cop).
There’s a strange stillness as the four of you emerges from the wreck. It took you a few moments to notice, but you suddenly realized you’re not a city street at all. The room you’re in looked more like a cargo hold on a Star of India shipping freighter, except for the blinding shaft of light and a the group of 10 or so - four armed creatures walking toward you.
You also notice a window, in which you see the planet Earth slowly disappearing in the distance.
I love my job.
Self-pimp @ jeffreylong.org.
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