tesla waves

i remember having a viewmaster when i was a kid. this was a plastic binocular looking thing that showed 3d images on little cardboard disks that you had to manually turn to view the next images. i had a whole shoebox of these disks. my favorite was the one that told the story of the apollo moon landing.

moon landing. a rocket with spacemen went to the moon and came back in 1969, almost 60 years ago.

i add the moon mission to the list of things i know. when i'm scared or depressed (i'm both right now), i start making a list of all the things i know. sometimes i remember something i don't remember knowing about, like my viewmaster and the moon missions. i picture the three dimensional scene of the return capsule burning with fire as it approached the earth, which was a white and blue half disk in the lower right side of the scene. i was scared to death of the fire and confused about how the astronauts could have splashed down safely after this.

my third grade teacher explained the concept of re-entry to me, something about how the speed of something coming out of space into earths atmosphere produces fire., and that this is what makes shooting stars, which are small meteors burning up when they hit the atmosphere.

sonofabitch! something else i didn't know i knew. i guess the spaceship must have been fireproof.

i would be happy about remembering so many things in one day, but i am confused and scared because the viewmaster with it's manual scene shifter was the first thing i remembered when my day shifted from work to whole foods without any memory of how i got from there to here.

 i must have cried out because people in the store were looking at me and then not looking at me like they were embarrassed for me.

my cell phone buzzed and i fumbled to answer it.

i know the managers name is adam. "hey dude, uh, you left the kitchen without clocking out or saying goodbye and you left a pot of soup on the stove. was this intentional?"

i'm beyond embarrassed. i'm mortified. i start stammering out an apology.

adam just seems tired.. "dude it's okay. nobody is mad at you. do you want to go on home or come back to work?"

i need to go back to work. i need to complete tasks.

adam says to relax. that he will come and get me. he reminds me that my new phone has the memory cue app.. he suggests i study it while i wait.

i go the store's outside cafe and find a table away from other people.

i activate the memory cue and review a series of wikipedia articles which explain to me, for probably the umpteenth time, about how the last major energy crisis was solved when a team of scientists funded by a texas billionaire studied the notes of a genius named tesla who thought that electricity should flow through the air from the source to the user, not through wires. he also thought that the planet was covered with some kind of naturally occurring electrical grid that could be tapped into for free.

well, not exactly free. it took a multi billionaire funding thousands of brilliant minds about twelve years, but they finally cracked the code. figured out where tesla had got it wrong when he came so close to getting it right. the electricity was everywhere and needed only a special magnet to pull it out of thin air.

these articles have been customized for a reader like me. which is a polite way of saying they were dumbed down. i had a problem understanding science even before my brain got fried.

shockhead. frybrain. the current politicly correct term for people like me is "wave people".

i hate that. call me a frybrain 'cause that's what i am.

everything has a price. people like me were the price of free energy. after the squat, black pyramids housing the e-receivers began appearing just about everywhere, people like me started acting funny. some of us were vague, detached from reality. some of us went completely crazy, even became violent. some of us heard voices.

and there were a lot of people, like me, who might remember how to tie their left shoe but not their right.

a car honks and i look up. it's actually two cars, one with adam and one with his wife. i put the phone away and stand up.

adam smiles weakly. "hey dude, my shift is over, so i'm just going to put you in my car, i'll pick it up tomorrow."

he gestures towards the passenger door of his car and walks to the other car.

wtf! he knows i can't drive with my condition. oh yeah. smart car. i get in the passenger seat and fasten the seat belt.

the car leaves the parking lot and merges in to traffic. a computerized female voice says "arriving at seraphim diner in...fifteen...minutes."

exactly fifteen minutes later the car parks itself behind the diner. i walk in the back door and in to the prep kitchen. people look at me. some have names, some don't. some like me, some don't. i wash my hands, find a cutting board and a knife, then realize i have no idea what i'm supposed to be doing.

a girl without a name walks up to me. "hey, i'm glad you came back. we need california rolls for dinner and maybe some ziti. then you can stock the kitchen and go home." she gives me an artificial smile.

all of this takes me about ninety minutes. every so often i glance up from my tasks. here and there government mandated signs are posted on the walls. safe food temperatures, basic first aid, federal minimum wage.

the one i keep looking at details the employment rights of "wave people". the feds consider me disabled. since my employer gets most of my salary rebated by the i.r.s, i have a right to demand customized video memory cues and memstim programs.

i don't make these demands. it means a lot to me to remember how to do something. my california rolls have all seven ingredients. i stock almost everything on the proper shelves the first time.

as i throw my trash in the dumpster, i smell pot. the nameless girl and a nameless guy are smoking just around the corner. they didn't look to see who was throwing out the trash.

"....wave people. just stops what he's doing around two o clock and walks out without a word, adam has to go drag him back."

"why did he bother?"

"well. he's not so bad some days. plus we get a lot of his salary back from the feds."

"have they thought about just not paying him? not like he would remember."

i round the corner and walk into a cloud of smoke and laughter. they both look at me, startled and then frightened. the guy hands a pipe to me like some kind of peace offering.

"can't. my memory is already fucked. remember?"

it seems like i am trying for sarcasm, but i don't know what that word means.

i form my hands into fists.

the dumpster clears it's throat.

to say that this changes everything..... gross understatement.

i look at the dumpster. it is still an industrial sized metallic trash container . green paint giving way to rust in spots, Central Texas Refuse stenciled on the side facing me. but it has suddenly acquired sentience. and it is talking to me.

"you didn't pay for anger, so i'm not allowing that indulgence. are you ready to be a chalkboard again?"

to be continued