The Glove Compartment

February 3, 2012
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One day, as Bob Johnson was sleeping in his 1 bedroom efficiency apartment, his alarm clock went off. “Ugh….. Another Monday morning. Great.” 24 year-old Bob attempted to roll to the edge of his bed. He failed. He fell to the floor with a thump, and let out another sigh, this one of annoyance. When he got up, he rubbed his face as he walked down the hallway in his dirty bathrobe and torn slippers. He stopped at his bathroom. He turned and walked straight to the sink, over various dirty laundry items, and let out yet another sigh as he turned the sticky knob to turn the sink on, and another when he splashed his face. He took a glance at the old, crooked clock on the wall. “Eight o’clock?! It can’t be eight already!” Bob rushed to his room, put on his wrinkled McDonald’s uniform and bolted out the door to his old, rusty, white Chevy Cavalier.

As Bob pulled out onto the highway, He looked at the clock. It read 8:13 in its green, square letters. Bob pushed a little harder on his accelerator. He watched as the speedometer read 80, 90, 100mph, but he stopped at 105, because he thought he would crash or something. Well, one thing was about to crash, and that was his life.
Bob noticed a flashing light, then a siren. “YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING!” He pulled over, and had to wait about 3 minutes before the officer got out of his car. Bob rolled down his window. “A problem, officer?”
“Yes, actually. License and registration, please.” Bob reached for his wallet, but felt nothing, so he reached for his glove compartment. When he opened it, he saw his registration paper way in the back. It had a perfectly round, yellowish-brown stain on it that seemed to jut out of the page. Since that was the only part visible, he grabbed it. He heard a slight whirr, but decided it was just the engine. When he held it up to the sunlight to verify it was his registration, a black portal the size opened up and sucked him and his car in. Before the officer could process what happened, the paper was just sitting on the road, with its magical talent hidden, by just what looked like a coffee stain.

Bob popped up on a highway that looked like the one he was just on, but it was different. A lot different. He noticed people driving flying cars, riding hover-scooters, and some people even riding hover boards in some cases. People looked in disbelief as they saw the ratty, old 1992 Cavalier. Bob pulled over, and a man on a hover board followed. Bob rolled down his window. “Can you tell me where I am?” he said. The man replied, “You are in Haven, the best city ever conceived in the history of the world! Where have you come from?”
The reply came. “I was driving on this highway, on my way to work. Wait, what year is this?”
“2211, why?”
“I’m from 2011! That means I’m 200 years in the future!”
“Wow! How did you get to 2211?”
“I pressed a button on my license registration when I was pulled over for speeding.” There was a brief silence as he thought it over. “You’re him! Come with me!”

After a while of riding uncomfortably on the back of the man’s hover-scooter, they arrived in front of a big building. It read Haven City Hall in its big, round letters. They walked in. The man pulled Bob over to a desk that read time travel, and explained what had happened to the friendly-looking woman. She replied, “Come with me!” Bob followed. After about 2 minutes of walking, they arrived at a large door. She pushed it open with ease. “What!?” a man yelled to his advisor. “You want me to do what?!” The reply came. “I am saying that I want you to bump up security. Yes, it will make Haven City… boring… to live in,
but-“she was cut off by the man. “NO!” he roared, “I refuse to make Haven City miserable! You’re… YOU’RE FIRED!” “You’ll be sorry when the greatest city in the world is rubble!” she yelled as she walked out the door. “You’ll be sorry, Mister Mayor!”

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