Skipping straight to Vincent # 3.

Vincent Fullerton # 3

After using the silver disk, and shimmying my way back to my own reality, the scientists had gobs of questions for me in the debriefing room. Well, the debriefing room was the same room the machine was in. So I suppose it’s the All-Purpose room. Or a kitchen pantry of sorts.

Speaking of rooms, I never could figure out why big corporations give their conference rooms boring names. “We are meeting in the Grand Canyon Room.” “Meet me over in the Sedona Room.” “Hey, you heard the meeting got moved to the Sun Valley room, right?” If you are going to name them something, why not name them after superhero comic figures? I’d much rather have a meeting in The Dude’s room, or the Gloveslapper room. Or why not go all out and name your conference rooms after sexual reproductive organs?

Truth be told, I just want my boss to send out an electronic mail that said we are having a meeting in the Clitoris room, and next Thursday the meeting would be in the Gigantic Penis room, because it has twelve chairs instead of a measly six. Bigger is better, my boss always says.

Ok, sorry. Tangent again. So yeah.. The Scientists! Right. Their questions. They bombarded me with their queries almost immediately after I reappeared into my reality, which was remarkably annoying. A cute lab assistant checked my blood pressure and pulse, while the scientists in the room blabbered on, talking over each other in order to be the one question I heard first. Most of them were pretty standard fare, but the ones I remember specifically were:

“Was your alternate self more or less like you right now?”

“How was the air quality? Did the other reality have trash receptacles?”

“Did you need the lab coat to protect you from acid rain, or people trying to ejaculate on you?”

“What sporting events did they participate in?”

“Did they have televisions, and if so were they holographic like ours?”

“Did women wear pants?”

Admittedly, the last question threw me off a bit, along with the lab coat question.

Hmm… On second thought, with the exception of one or two questions asked, these sure as Hell shouldn’t have been standard fare questions coming from scientists. A few weeks into the experiment, I started to realize that being a scientist at the Area 51 Research, Laboratory and Theme Park was a very lonely job, but even then the quality and wide range of questions never shocked me until now while going over my e-notes to write this book.

Jesus, I should have punched the scientist who asked me if I need the lab coat to protect myself from roaming jack-offers with nothing better to do with their free time. I still might punch him, go track him down and kick him in his groin. If you read this, Mr. Condom Coat jackass, I will find you. Better start running now.

So aside from those bizarre questions, I answered what I could. Even answered the bizarre questions. Sort of.

“No, Vincent Fullerton number 2 was quite different because of the way he was raised. His mother died giving birth to what would have been his younger brother when he was twelve years old. This affected his entire life, and he never recovered from the tragedy. Completely different from my life, as my mother is still alive, and I am an only child. The air quality was tangy, quite tasty if I don’t say so myself. No massive air scrubbers, so I could taste the pollution. No, you sicko! I did not need my lab coat. They have many of the same sports as us, with the exception of Hoverball. They did not have personal hovercrafts, so that game would never happen there until they do. The only television I saw was at the bar, and it was not holographic. It was what the guy called an LCD plasma television. And yes, the women wear pants, sicko scientist number 2!”

After the cute nurse was done checking my vitals, I thanked her, stood up and stretched. “How soon can we be ready for reality number three?”

James Riker stuck his head above his holo-monitor. “Twenty minutes. We need to calibrate the machine for the next reality, and make sure the environment is safe for you. Probably a good time to go the restroom, maybe grab some Little Debbie Oatmeal Pie cookies in the break room.”

“You scientists and those damn cookies. Did that bitch Debbie blackmail you into eating them? I see everyone eating them here!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” James flatly stated rather unconvincingly while shoving another oatmeal snack cake into his mouth.

I shook my head and walked off to go relieve myself and avoid the cookies.

While on the toilet in the men’s room, I finally had some peace and quiet to reflect on what I had just done.

Holy shit. I visited another reality, another timeline from my own. I smiled and laughed out loud, causing the person who just entered the bathroom to cough uncomfortably to announce his presence. The visitor continued to clear his throat when I didn't stop chuckling, and then exited rapidly after finishing his business.

It was remarkable enough that the machine worked in the first place. It was almost unreal seeing another reality. And to top off the near-insanity, I had a beer with my alternate self at a restaurant called Chotchkie’s. I witnessed how my life could have been remarkably different from the current path taken. My mother was never a janitor, and my father was never a teacher. My mother is still teaching 7^th grade Alien Science at Surly Dwarf Middle School in Henderson, Nevada. Oh, and it’s just my opinion, but the Clark County School Board should have NEVER let the elementary kids pick the names of the new schools being built in the 1990’s. On top of Surly Dwarf, there’s Tyrannosaurus Rex High School, Robin Hood Elementary, Chocolate Chip Cookie Junior High, Homework Sucks Middle School and Screaming Badger High School. Just terrible.

Sorry. Another unnecessary tangent.

My mother kept me going after my father passed away when I was in 11^th grade at Screaming Badger. My father suddenly became ill, and it was discovered he had testicular cancer. Cancer is something that can be cured in this reality, but it has to be caught in the early stages. If it isn’t caught quickly, it can be deadly. Sadly, for my father it wasn’t caught early enough.

It was my mother’s strength and will that made me finish high school, and her resolve that got me through college. It was her stubborn will to not accept failure that drove me to this point in my life. I owe her everything.

That was of course, the biggest difference between Vincent #2 and myself. We both had parents die on us, but it was surprising to learn it was his mother that died, and to see his father crumble under the weight of his grief. His father never recovered in any capacity, and it bled down into his son. Drugs, truancy, and a life of crime that caused #2 to never go to college, never amount to anything but a janitor.

The emotional impact #2’s story had on me was shocking, as I sat there on the toilet. I expected to hear fascinating stories, discover sights not seen before, and learn a thing or two about myself, but the sadness I felt for #2 was almost indescribable. It was something I did not expect at all.

Eventually, my legs became numb from sitting on the toilet too long, so I finished my duty and washed my hands with the antibacterial foam, and walked back to the lab to get ready for the next reality, and Vincent #3.