Time Line

Albert Einstein is considered the greatest physicist since Sir Isaac Newton. When an apple fell out of a tree onto Newton's head, he decided that someone had placed a giant magnet at the center of the Earth and this kept us all from flying off into space. He spent the rest of his life dropping items of various weight, shape, and size off of tall buildings and bridges, thus annoying his neighbors who soon tired of wiping raw egg off of their hats. The ones who were hit with anvils never complained, however.

Einstein worked in a patent office, but instead of writing patents he spent his workday thinking about time, energy, matter, and the speed of light. He is credited with inventing the formula -- "Pi R round, cake R square". In 1919 he wrote a book entitled "How I Learned to Spend My Employer's Time Writing This Book", now regarded as the greatest science text of the Twentieth Century. Einstein spent the rest of his life trying to understand how worms had managed to leave Earth and fly through space faster than the speed of light.

Today we are much smarter and understand that we live inside of a very large piano composed of eleven dimensions and that we all perch precariously on the vibrating strings. Sometimes this is fun, like when we ride a roller coaster, go on a date, or just sit quietly on the edge of a chair. Sometimes it is scary, like when we see ourselves in old home movies or try to walk through full-length mirrors. Women, by nature more sensitive creatures, seem to understand and appreciate string theory more than do men. We cannot see the strings because, well, they vibrate and are smaller than an atom or even a Mini Cooper. As they vibrate they make music which fills the Universe and was once captured inadvertently by the Chambers Brothers in their classic song "The Time Has Come Today". You can hear this by using a turntable to play the song backwards. Either that or it says "We buried Paul". I can't remember which.

Anyway, these strings are the basis for time as we know it and are responsible for pulling the hands on a clock around in a circle. They make digital clocks run too, but to date we have not been able to figure this out. Physicists suspect that Vanna White may be changing the numbers. Using giant machines scientists can break atoms apart to locate particles smaller than protons and electrons. They have learned that R. Buckminster Fuller, unable to build any of his domes in this dimension, created his own sub-atomic particles in order to reorganize his basement. These new particles are so small that they can only be seen by bats. When physicists first learned this they thought they should come up with a catchy term to describe these new particles, so they named them "buckminsterfullerenes". I am not making this up. After many exciting news conferences, this word was shortened to "buckyballs" as a way to keep journalists from falling asleep.

I had already mastered the ability to move faster than the speed of light by the time I was five years old. I could do this whenever I heard my mother say -- "Go get me the belt." I moved so fast that I was at my neighbor's house before she even said the words. I had learned how to reverse the rotation of the Earth from an older friend who had deciphered it from a Superman comic book.

One day Mom took my hand and announced -- "It is time to go to school". Immediately I wanted to go back to yesterday, but I was also in a hurry to grow up, so I let it slide. Mrs. Snider, our kindergarten teacher, had apparently notified all of the mothers in advance that we each needed a "sleeping mat". My mother had gone to a local thrift shop and located a piece of what was later to become known affectionately as "shag carpet". I had to roll this monstrous yellow remnant up and stick it under my arm and haul it to school.

Every day when the Big hand was on the twelve and the Little hand was on the one, Mrs. Snider would command, "Children, get your mats out and take a nap". I then spent the next thirty minutes studying the huge round face on the wall. I was an insect stuck on a piece of fuzzy amber. It was about as exciting as watching dew evaporate. These mats served a dual purpose, however, also to be used as cover in the event of a Russian atomic bomb going off on our playground. I didn't need mine for this since at the very moment of detonation I planned to reverse the rotation of the Earth and run home to hide under my bed. Everything I ever needed to know about atomic fission I learned in kindergarten.

For the next fifty years someone was always telling me that I had to be somewhere at a certain time. I could not even escape during indolent summers. Every year I was required to leave the Twentieth Century and return to the Nineteenth. This involved not a time machine but a ride in a Volkswagen bus. A ritual known as Going Away to Summer Camp. Surrounded by the Adirondacks, deep in the woods, living in either a tent or cabin; no electricity, no running water, just a cot or bunk bed with an up-ended orange crate next to it. And on that crate a wind-up alarm clock. All day -- all night -- "tick-tock, tick-tock".

The counselors, Marine Corps dropouts one and all, kept strict schedules. Being late for anything was punishable by countless push-ups or yard duty. Yard duty involved sweeping out the tent platform or cabin and arranging the pine needles outside in order so that they all pointed in the same direction. Consequently there were lines everywhere, even at the latrines, because the only acceptable excuse for being late for anything was that you were "in a line" or sorting pine needles. Some of us actually entered and exited puberty while standing in a line. If we were doing calisthenics, sitting in a Bible study, or "taking a nap", time would abruptly come to a halt. If we were swimming, climbing trees, performing skits, eating ice cream, or playing tether ball, two hours went by in less than five minutes.

Obtaining my first real job involved becoming familiar with a Time Clock. This is not a redundancy. If there existed anywhere a clock whose function was something other than telling time, this was it. As well as the time it also dispensed pain to the intense or inattentive. Here you would place your "time card" and have it stamped twice a day, in order that you might prove to the boss that you were actually at work and not still at home in bed, playing with buckyballs, or sitting on the edge of your sofa.

Apparently I was the only one at work who knew how to reverse the rotation of the Earth. I wasn't keen on getting into any more lines, so I was always early. When there were ten people all lined up to get 7:59 punched before the clock turned to 8:00, you could hear someone scream as they missed their card and punched their finger. They would need the company nurse to verify their punctuality. Some people even learned to punch in and then promptly go right back to sleep. These people were usually in charge of Something, so they could spend their days dozing behind a magazine or book. Desktop computers signaled the end of the time clock, and the screams died away. As each laborer logged on every day the computers dutifully recorded the date and time, and then, much to the boss's delight, kept silent track of our time all day. Once again time slowed to the speed of Ponderosa pine. In workday years I am actually 8,000 years old.

When I retired, Mister Drone shook my hand and gave me a plaque stating that I was a Man Among Men for taking so much of my time to move large piles of paper around. I thought -- "What's this? No gold watch?" Aren't you supposed to get a shiny timepiece when you retire? Every day there are at least a dozen messages in my email inbox offering me Rolex watches at insane prices. Warehouses full, in fact. Perhaps the drones knew this and expected me to buy my own. But instead I went home, took off my wristwatch, and never wore it again. I still keep a back-lit digital clock on my nightstand whose sole function is to act as a guide for a senior with a prostate bigger than a bread box.

And every once in a while, in the middle of the night, I open one eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of Vanna.