Self-Impressed
""Kami_of_Water
"Oh my god, I can't believe it's you!"
I can't either.
The line is longer than yesterday, which doesn't mean much. Tuesdays is the most popular day, which is most people's day off. I don't know why that's the cause, but that's what people tell me. It's unusual, me speaking to most of the folks that come to see me. The conversation is never long, and always short. Most people are trying to figure out why their signal is so bad, but is disappointing. It appears that people from the future are still dumb.
Twenty people deep today, which isn't bad for a Wednesday. Bad in the sense that it's not more. This experience, well, it's kinda shitty. The future me figured out how to make money from this, and the irony is that being the reason to all of this craziness in my life is...well, the event. The reason I'm famous is in the future is the reason I'm misery now.
The reason of all this assholes at my front door.
"Can I have a picture?"
"Sure."
I learned to plaster on the smile of a thousands fake smiles, and I give the oddly blonde family a picture. Something about gene splicing that's big now, so a lot of the people seem...phony? I don't quite understand. It looks fake, but it's not fake. The artificial is now natural, which...seems to activate my gag reflex.
It was really awkward when I got that first knock on my door.
The first family was an all blonde, asian family. They were really nice, but I felt so uncomfortable, terrible. It must be what its like to be racist. I feel like, this shouldn't be, but I don't dig. I don't probe for information. It felt cool the first few times a stranger knocked on my door, and ask for a picture, then disappeared.
"Thank you so much!"
The weird thing was the code switching that happened when they were leaving. Their English was perfect, but they switched something else. Something I couldn't recognize. It wasn't even an asian language.
The future is weird. I wave the next family up.
They look at the steps to porch, which is odd. My porch isn't anything great. There's a little girl in the family, and she looks up at me. I've seen plenty of kids come here, but none of them who look like this. She looks me, and something is wrong with her eyes. It isn't what I see in most kids. There's something heavy here. She knows something.
"Mr. Carter?"
"Hello, hello." My automatic greeting spills from my lips. "What kind of picture are you guys looking for? We can do it inside, outside-"
"We're not-"
"I can show you parts of the house, but not upstairs. That's must remain a magical mystery." I laugh on cue, already motioning to move into the living room."
"Mr. Carter, may we sit?"
This is what throws me off my game.
"Um...sure. " The older man takes a sit in the chair, and the woman he's with takes the child and sits with her on the sofa. They stare at me, and then the man gestures to the other chair.
"Please, Mr. Carter. Take a seat."
"Mommy, I want to go." The little girl stares at me.
"Honey, we won't be here long. Did you want picture with Mr. Carter?"
"No, I want to leave."
"Soon, dear. Soon."
Silence follows the pleas of the little girl. Nobody wants a picture. Nobody wants an embarrassing story. They're just sitting in my little room, taking up time in my afternoon. I don't feel so friendly anymore.
"So...what can I do for you guys?"
"Mr. Carter....you're passed."
"Oh my god, I can't believe it's you!"
I can't either.
The line is longer than yesterday, which doesn't mean much. Tuesdays is the most popular day, which is most people's day off. I don't know why that's the cause, but that's what people tell me. It's unusual, me speaking to most of the folks that come to see me. The conversation is never long, and always short. Most people are trying to figure out why their signal is so bad, but is disappointing. It appears that people from the future are still dumb.
Twenty people deep today, which isn't bad for a Wednesday. Bad in the sense that it's not more. This experience, well, it's kinda shitty. The future me figured out how to make money from this, and the irony is that being the reason to all of this craziness in my life is...well, the event. The reason I'm famous is in the future is the reason I'm misery now.
The reason of all this assholes at my front door.
"Can I have a picture?"
"Sure."
I learned to plaster on the smile of a thousands fake smiles, and I give the oddly blonde family a picture. Something about gene splicing that's big now, so a lot of the people seem...phony? I don't quite understand. It looks fake, but it's not fake. The artificial is now natural, which...seems to activate my gag reflex.
It was really awkward when I got that first knock on my door.
The first family was an all blonde, asian family. They were really nice, but I felt so uncomfortable, terrible. It must be what its like to be racist. I feel like, this shouldn't be, but I don't dig. I don't probe for information. It felt cool the first few times a stranger knocked on my door, and ask for a picture, then disappeared.
"Thank you so much!"
The weird thing was the code switching that happened when they were leaving. Their English was perfect, but they switched something else. Something I couldn't recognize. It wasn't even an asian language.
The future is weird. I wave the next family up.
They look at the steps to porch, which is odd. My porch isn't anything great. There's a little girl in the family, and she looks up at me. I've seen plenty of kids come here, but none of them who look like this. She looks me, and something is wrong with her eyes. It isn't what I see in most kids. There's something heavy here. She knows something.
"Mr. Carter?"
"Hello, hello." My automatic greeting spills from my lips. "What kind of picture are you guys looking for? We can do it inside, outside-"
"We're not-"
"I can show you parts of the house, but not upstairs. That's must remain a magical mystery." I laugh on cue, already motioning to move into the living room."
"Mr. Carter, may we sit?"
This is what throws me off my game.
"Um...sure. " The older man takes a sit in the chair, and the woman he's with takes the child and sits with her on the sofa. They stare at me, and then the man gestures to the other chair.
"Please, Mr. Carter. Take a seat."
"Mommy, I want to go." The little girl stares at me.
"Honey, we won't be here long. Did you want picture with Mr. Carter?"
"No, I want to leave."
"Soon, dear. Soon."
Silence follows the pleas of the little girl. Nobody wants a picture. Nobody wants an embarrassing story. They're just sitting in my little room, taking up time in my afternoon. I don't feel so friendly anymore.
"So...what can I do for you guys?"
"Mr. Carter....you're passed."
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