Tales from the Waffle House Teleporter
The thrilling finale of our hero’s journey, in the genre of choosing a path to adventure, but not to be confused with the trademarked Choose Your Own Adventure, which has venture capital-backed ownership aggressively protecting its intellectual property.
“Before you run out of G’s,” he said a third time aloud, suddenly realizing the danger he was in. Would he be trapped on this terrible version of Earth with no sweet tea or Southern hospitality?
He did the only thing that made logical sense in this twisted alternate universe. Gre stole a pen from the cook and wrote in the missing G’s on his emergency card.
The card pulsed in his hand, growing, transforming. A sudden flash of light, the color a strange mix between elegant gold and gas station burrito diarrhea, and he screamed.
“SCHRNRFFF!”
Ggreggg awoke seated in a compact cubicle, his battered body feeling like he waterskied a shark robot in lake of fire wearing only tightie-whities. On the imitation Ikea desk was a touchscreen displaying voting options. He forgot his interdimensional woes for a moment and mumbled out loud. “Seriously, didn’t we just have an election two weeks ago? And a month before that?”
The polling volunteer shushed him with the kind of shush that would make every school librarian throughout history proud.
“SSSHHHHHHHHHUUUUSSSSSHHHHHHH. Yes, sir, we DID vote those other days. But today is the last day of early-bird voting for the mandatory follow-up measure of the non-binding, party-primary commission vote for the special election, runoff selection, write-in absentee ballot chartering the constitutional amendment. This is not to be confused with the emergency special election runoff charter commission rebinding of the…”
Greggg nodded and let the remaining word salad flow past him. “So, not Earth 1, but one fairly close. Earth 4 or 5?” He mused. But why was everyone in the voting center wearing headbands of furry wolf ears, like the entire city spent last weekend at the Great Wolf Lodge?
It wasn’t Gregg’s earth, so he studied the candidates on the screen and made a peculiar discovery. Why were the names on the ballot missing? Where the candidates and party affiliations should be was an objective list of qualifications for each candidate.
“First time voting?” The poll volunteer glanced at his lack of wolf ears and answered Greg’s unspoken question. “We may have to vote 340 days a year, but don’t tolerate lies from politicians. Everyone submits their life before the Great Wolf Spirit, and their character is revealed.
With renewed interest, he scanned the actual descriptions of each candidate on the alternate-universe ballot. Some were very positive:
- Leader
- Trustworthy
- Service-Oriented
- Community Builder
While other potential officials had more damning monikers:
- Still Believes AI Datacenter Companies Are Telling the Truth.
- Hasn’t Embezzled, Yet.
- Will Say One Thing To Your Face, But Then Say Another Thing to A Different Face That Isn’t Your Face, And If a Third Face Is Involved, All Bets Are Off.
One of the descriptors made him lol, like in olden times, when physically laughing out loud was a thing. The descriptor for one of the most popular candidates simply said one word.
- Jawline
He clicked the information button on the screen, and it revealed further details. Candidate “Blue Steel” Has the Perfectly Sculpted Jawline of a Greek Demigod or Derek Zoolander. Men Fear Him, Women Swoon.
Amazed at the trivial qualifications, Gre almost missed the warning hum of his teleporter card as it ran out of juice.
WHAT SHOULD OUR HERO DO NEXT?
- A) Forget the previous Earths, cast his vote. Perhaps Blue Steel Earth is the place to end his travels?
- B) Seek out the Great Wolf Spirit to reveal the true descriptions of his own character? It’s been a while since he went on a holy pilgrimage to the mascot of an indoor waterpark.
- C) Return to the previous earth and take his chances with the inhuman Waffle House lady? That should end well. #sarcasm
- D) Publish Ian’s personal email address for annoyed readers to send their hate mail?
The end.*
Disclaimer: This story was written by Mark Suroviec, M.Ed. All people and quotations are fictional, invented by the limited imagination of the author, and do not reflect the opinions of the author, editors, Waffle House, Dominion Voting Machines, or V3 Magazine.
*Or is it?
