A Day in the Life of a Bubble

October 3, 2007
Why would anyone write a story about a bubble? One would think a day in a bubble’s life wouldn’t be all that interesting. But being a bubble has its perks, I must say, though you may want to consider all of your options carefully before choosing this action-packed way of life. Rest assured, you will not come away unchanged.

As it happens, my story begins like every other bubble’s story: with a piece of bubble gum. However, this was no ordinary gum. This gum was special-magical, if you will. This fantastic piece of chewing gum was made of something resembling the stuff they use to make Chinese finger traps out of. Except it tasted better. Thus, it was nearly indestructible. As I came into existence I realized that a small child was chewing me and starting to blow me into a bubble. At this point in my life I do remember being slightly frightened, but, as the kid lost interest in me and spat me out, I felt overwhelmed by the sense of approaching adventure as I was swept off by the wind.

I’m floating, floating, floating-WHAM! Some moron had to stick a mailbox in my lane of travel. People these days. Slightly annoyed, I drift casually into the nearest club and start grooving to the beat there. What’s that? You need a disco ball? Well that’s not my problem, I thought. Suddenly a guy grabs me, sticks a lightbulb thing in the top of my head, and hangs me from the ceiling. Wonderful. More than a little offended now, I detach myself and hurry out of that place, finding myself along a busy road with evil, smoke-producing cars flying past me as if the world was ending. Perhaps it was, for all I knew, but what difference would it really make to rush everywhere? Why not sit back and enjoy the few remaining hours you had left?

Anyway, I really didn’t like being next to that noisy place, so I coast across the street into a public garden. It seemed peaceful enough. Little did I know that there was a manic child with a Sharpie waiting for me. He seemed to think it was funny to draw a face on me with said Sharpie and show me to all his little friends. I did not find it that amusing. Thoroughly insulted now, I made my getaway and hid in the nearest building I could find. As luck would have it, it turned out to be one of the smelliest, dampest, uninviting places on the face of the planet. A bus station. And guess who got stuck to the wall to be used as a way to hang posters? That’s right. I did. But I wasn’t complaining, no, because I had found something worth hanging around for—no pun intended whatsoever. You see, in addition to hanging posters, signs, and announcements, this poster board of sorts hung one other thing: maps of the bus routes. Such wonderful pictures! Such eye-catching colors! Entranced, I began pondering possible means to make my escape, and also where I could go with such a device in my, er, well...with me. Plotting is something I am especially good at so, without further ado, I began to work on the most evil, cunning, and dastardly plot ever known to man-or bubble-kind. A plot to take over the universe, one bus station at a time.

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