The Tourist

I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, trying to put behind me the memories of all those assholes I had to talk to at work by surrounding myself with assholes I could rightfully ignore. In other words, a regular Tuesday night at the watering hole.

I was three Bourbons to the wind when in walked this tall lanky man and sat next to me. He turned to Richard behind the bar and asked him for a drink with alcohol in it. Richard was not amused. He pointed to the shelf behind him without saying a damn word. I always liked Richard — he was one of the good ones. The man looked at the selection somewhat confused, and then turned to me and stared at my drink.

“I’ll have what he’s drinking.”

He was wearing the kind of generic outfit you’d see in stock photography: pleated pants, button down shirt, and a light brown fall jacket with a scarf neatly hanging off his shoulders. He took a sip of his drink and made that face people do when they’re not used to anything stronger than a cosmopolitan. I figured I’d help the poor soul.

“Hey Rich, can we get a couple of waters down here. Thanks.”

I slid the glass over, “chase it at first, it goes down easier.”

He gave me a puzzled look.

“Take a sip of that and then take a gulp of that after.”

“Ahhh — thank you. I’m Phil.”

I introduced myself and went about my business. A few minutes passed and the motherfucker opened his mouth again.

“You guys around here, you do the drugs don’t you? Know where I can get some?”

I know I don’t look like a fucking Quaker, but the comment seemed a bit over the top.

“The drugs? Yeah, we do all the drugs around here. We are so in the drugs that we can’t drug without drugging first.”

Apparently he was fluent in sarcasm, and facial gestures of the disdainful variety, because he immediately recoiled. “I’m sorry sir, I’m very new to this place. I don’t have the local mannerism necessary for appropriate protocol.”

Alright, clearly this guy was on something already. Either that or he’d been piling up his calendar dictionary words for the past few days. Either way, I was entertained.

“Where exactly are you from?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Look motherfucker, you’re the one that was keen on conversation a minute ago. I’m just trying to move things along.”

“No… no. It’s not that at all. I always have trouble with this question. I like to establish a bit of rapport before going into, mainly because it’s quite involved.”

“I’m from Brooklyn. I don’t have that issue. The place speaks for itself.”

He took off his jacket and I immediately noticed something strange around his wrist, “Is that one of those apple watches?”

He leaned in, “It’s not a watch.” He paused and took a deep breath, then looked over his shoulders and continued, “It’s much more complicated than that.”

All that buildup for nothing. I was starting to get fed up with all the nonsense. I shrugged it off and took the last gulp of my bourbon and then ordered another one.

After a few minutes of silence — did I mention the bar was dead — I didn’t think I had to, it was a Tuesday night at a local watering hole.

Anyway, as I was saying, the guy leaned in and started blabbing. He extended his wrist and went into it:

“This is a timepiece, that much is true. But it doesn’t tell time. It alters it. Well… that’s not right. Scientifically I guess it is right, to some degree, but functionally, the device allows me to travel through time by speeding up the subatomic particles in my body to the point where their quantum fluctuations stabilize and you can pick any position in the time-space continuum.”

And there we have it folks, another nut job in Manhattan. I was getting too old for this shit.

“Time travel. So you’re from the future… Phil from the future.”

“Yes sir I am. I’m on vacation.”

“Yeah yeah, not very original. Ya gotta pick a better angle kid.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then what are you doing over here, in this shit-hole, on a Tuesday night?”

“The same thing we all do when we’re on vacation, all the things we can’t when we’re home.”

Even though he was a nutjob, he seemed sincere and harmless. I wanted to see how badly the gears were grinding between his ears, so I kept at it.

“Alright, so you’re from the future. Any particular century or just generally the future?”

“Hold on a minute.”

He checked his watch before responding, “by your calendar — the year 2347.”

“What’s it like over there? And what the hell are you doing here — is this some last ditch effort to save the world from post apocalyptic horror?”

He began to laugh, “Then why would I be buying alcohol and the drugs?”

“Beats me — maybe you’re here a day early?”

He began to cackle and asked the bartender for another “alcoholic beverage of the same variety.”

After he settled down he went into the details. Apparently, the future is some kind of utopian paradise where no one does anything wrong, there’s no need for money, and everyone gets along with everyone else. Obviously, this jackass did not have much of an imagination. He told me that they travel back in time to visit places that are more primitive in order to add some excitement to their lives. Although not too much of it, since his device can only hold him here for 6 hours and after that, poof, he’s back to where he started. They really only come back to get high… they’re curious about that, since there’s nothing like it in the future. That side of paradise didn’t seem as appealing as all the other shit.

“All that technology at your disposal and you’ve come back here to get shitfaced. Hell, I can respect that.”

I passed him some edibles and told him that those were “the drugs.” If this was an elaborate ploy to cop some weed, the motherfucker deserved to get some. He thanked me and then put on his jacket, stumbling a bit in the process. Before he left, I asked him a few more questions, just to see if I could poke a hole or two in his yarn.

“You guys from 2347, taking vacations like this all the time, world must be full of tourists, I imagine.”

“Oh yes, it’s become quite popular.”

“How do you guys avoid altering the time line?” Three terminator movies and five seasons of quantum leap gave me that little kernel of insight.

He began to laugh, “Alter the timeline? How myopic of you. Do you really think anything anyone does in one day matters in the long run?”

“What about bringing some kind of super bomb back from the future and blowing up New York, or some shit like that? Or using your technology to build one over here?”

“We can’t. We only have a six hour window. Not enough time to assemble anything or get our hands on anything dangerous. I mean, it takes us an hour or two just to get our bearings. As for bringing back technology, the timepiece only works on whoever wears it. To put it simply, it’s like a domino effect caused from the point of contact with the skin. The only thing that travels back and forth is the person’s body.”

On his way out I thanked him for his time (I know, bad pun) and gave him a bit more fodder for his neurotic bullshit “It’s good to know that at least we’re all going to be alright in the future. I guess I’ll sleep better tonight.”

“Oh quite the contrary. This time period is fraught with turmoil. I’m afraid not very many of you will survive the imminent collapse of the US empire, the climate shifts that will lead to widespread famine and disease, the polar ice caps melting, scarcity of resources, and the general mass hysteria and violence that follows such volatility. It will take another 200 years to rebuild the damage caused by the next 15 years.”

I looked at him and raised my glass, “Well then, here’s to the end of the world.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit. It’s been fantastic. Enjoy your evening.”

I stuck around for a few more drinks after Phil left. As I was crossing the park on my way home, I noticed a pile of clothes in the middle of one of the walkways. I took a closer look and sure enough, it was Phil’s outfit. I’ll tell you this much, the motherfucker showed a level of commitment to his bullshit that I had never seen before.

That would have been the end of it, except for the fact that I keep seeing piles of clothes in neat little clumps on the sidewalk all over Manhattan. I can’t believe I never noticed before. Then again, who would?

Only someone who knows what he’s looking at.