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THE 48 HOURS SCENARIOS
A steady diet of spam
What will the next 50 years bring? Like yours, my thoughts immediately turn to email. Ten years ago it was generally unknown, and today it is ubiquitous, especially here in America, and especially at my desk at work, where my job is ill-defined. In the next half century, what will replace it? Instant messaging? Mind links? Eye pads? Braincams? You Futurists out there should print and save this piece to compare when 2051 rolls around.
Email begets spam messaging, and most of it is annoying garbage. Still, I was struck by the subject line of one I received the other day: "If you have just 48 hours to lose weight…." Wow. What a hook. Who needs to lose weight in 48 hours? How does something like needing to lose weight that suddenly catch you off guard? What if I did need to drop pounds like that? Well, I was able to imagine several plausible scenarios -- especially given the unavoidability of the future -- that would mandate me losing weight so damned quickly.
THE WEDDING
It begins with a simple exchange. I receive a phone call on a Thursday afternoon from a friend.
FRIEND: Can you grab a beer tonight?
BRADY: Sure thing. I'm free all night.
FRIEND: Really? Even with Saturday and all?
BRADY: Huh? What's going on Saturday?
FRIEND: You're getting married, aren't you?
BRADY: Married?! By gorry, you're right! This Saturday! To…that woman…
FRIEND: Beth…
(Note: Gentle Reader, I received a forward from a teenaged friend of mine that said if I forwarded the message on to ten people, a certain link would tell me the name of my bride-to-be. I obliged out of curiosity, and the link said, "The name of your future wife is…Beth." Plain and simple. It could be pre-destined, or it could be self-fulfilling; after all, now when I meet a woman not named Beth, what's the point? And if were to meet a Beth, I am sure my palms would sweat and I would suddenly need to go play poker with the guys.)
BRADY: Yes, Beth my betrothed. I need to prepare for this Big Day. Goodbye.
I rush out to the bar to meet my friend, as Happy Hour lasts until 7 there, and there's not cover if you are there before the band starts up. Afterwards, I rush to the local all-night Tuxedoier to see what I can get for The Happiest Day of My Life (not counting the times I won gold medals at the Olympics). The tuxedo shop is sadly out of most of its stock. The man there says:
MAN: I have this one wedding tuxedo left. But it's two sizes too small for you, and lest anyone interested forget, you have but two days until your wedding.
BRADY: I'll take it.
MAN: But sir-
BRADY: (winking slyly, coolly) Losing weight in 48 hours? I think I know a way….
Improbable that I forget my own wedding, you say? Not really. Especially if my wedding falls at the beginning of the month, and I have therefore not flipped my calendar to see what is upcoming. Another scenario, perhaps five years after the previous one:
THE ROLE OF A LIFETIME
My tendency to move "in the right circles" is key to this scenario, as there is a phone call one humid afternoon. It is a famous director. Perhaps Ang Lee.
LEE: Brady? It's Ang Lee. We met at Benecio del Toro's cookout in July.
BRADY: Of course. How are you?
LEE: Fine, fine. Listen: I have an amazing role in my newest film, The Greatest Man, and the actor who was slated to star and therefore win the respect and adulation of endless generations has just been convicted of regicide.
BRADY: Ang, that's terrible.
LEE: That's debatable. William was misguided. Harry will do a much better job. At any rate, this is The Role Of A Lifetime.
BRADY: Well, I don't know who is dashing, sensitive, yet brash enough to pull off a part like the one you must have in store.
LEE: I think you would be perfect.
BRADY: Me? Why, I haven't acted since college! And I don't even have a SAG card!
LEE: And you've put on some weight.
(That's one thing I like about Ang Lee -- he's kind and down-to-earth, but he's always going to be straightforward with you.)
BRADY: You're right. It's the homemade cookie dough ice cream Natalie Portman keeps bringing over -- it's too good!
LEE: Yes, well, can you be ready for stardom in say, three days? Drop back down to a size 34?
BRADY: How about this: I'll be a size 32 in 48 hours, so we can shoot when the weather is supposed to be sunny.
LEE: You amaze me. How do you do it?
I stifle the "Ancient Chinese secret" line that I used so successfully at del Toro's cookout, when I met Ang.
BRADY: I'll say this: the proof is not in the pudding.
LEE: You realize, of course, what you just said means nothing. It confuses and sort of angers me.
BRADY: Yes. I am sorry.
LEE: See you in a couple of days.
Don't worry, Gentle Reader, Ang never gets mad at me. It's a bantering kind of relationship we have -- he actually looks up to me in many ways. No, really. At any rate, we fast forward another ten years or so:
THE INTERGALACTIC EMERGENCY
It is entirely true that I do not work out -- let's face it, the most regular exercise I get is daily wincing -- but there are some, less fit people who would say that I am "more fit" than many of my peers. This will undoubtedly hold true throughout my life, and even into my forties and fifties I might be found performing laudable acts of physical capability in Times Square, or perhaps after drinking too much. Or both. Not surprisingly, NASA one day will come a-knocking, and I will be selected for an Important Mission. The mission encounters new life on a distant planet, and we obtain valuable information from this tender, intelligent race on, well, everything. On the way back home, disaster strikes our spaceship.
CAPTAIN: Good Lord, this spells disaster!
FIRST MATE: What's wrong, Captain?
CAPTAIN: Our O-core laser inflector de-ferrelizing mono-stabilulator Marconifying Device has gone kaput.
DR. CRUMWORT: You mean--
CAPTAIN: That's exactly right.
FM: Doom. Doom for us all. And mankind will be the true sufferer.
DR: But the escape pods! Surely--
CAPTAIN: Have you forgotten? Since people refused to pay anything more than a dollar per gallon of gas and all those school levies failed, the space program has had to make do with but one escape pod per ship.
FM: Fiendish but true.
BRADY: When will people learn?
There is a meaningful pause.
CAPTAIN: You, Brady, must teach them.
BRADY: I? No. I couldn't leave you….
NURSE TUCKER: No, the Captain is right.
DR: I disagree. The escape hatch fits one person. All of you have grown a touch overweight As I am overly brainy and slightly sinister, you may notice that I have coincidentally remained in shape, and am the only one who can fit into through the pod entry.
NURSE: Doctor! You sabotaged the O-ring et cetera in a desperate bid for fame!
DR: Nurse, you are too clever by half, but the fact remains that mankind needs the information we obtained, and now I am the only one able to bring it to them.
CAPTAIN: We have two days to figure out another solution. Two days until this spacecraft is destroyed by the evil Doctor. Brady, is there anyway you could lose the necessary amount of weight in that time? Without the benefit of the Doctor's care?
BRADY: That depends on One Thing: Can I check my email from here?
CAPTAIN: Yes. Go to it!
FM: And what of the treacherous Doctor Crumwort?
CAPTAIN: Clap him in irons!
Two days later, I am again trim and svelte. We do a round of tearful yet obstinately professional goodbyes. The Nurse and I, though, have a touchingly beautiful moment.
BRADY: Listen, everyone, there is something you should know. The Nurse and I have been carrying on (my sweet wife Beth having died in a terrible accident involving a pride of lions years ago, thereby explaining the sexy yet dignified and somewhat mournful shock of grey that colors a forelock above my brow) for some time now.
EVERYONE: We know.
BRADY: Ah. I see.
NURSE: Our love will endure despite my fiery demise in the vast reaches of this desolate, heartless void we call outer space.
BRADY: I wish there were some way to take you with me….
NURSE: We both know that's impossible. I've seen the movie Armageddon….
This admission makes it slightly easier for me to leave her behind.
BRADY: (lying) Me, too. Which means….
NURSE: That I cannot return to Earth. Only you can.
BRADY: And without any strange alien fetuses inside me, right? Right, guys? Right?
CAPTAIN: It is time. Be well, Brady, be strong.
FM: Fortitude and justice shall be your guide, along with the pre-programmed homing computer.
NURSE: No woman has ever loved a man as I love you.
DR: You weight-losing bastard.
These final salutes send me on my way as I launch the escape pod. The pod cupboard reveals shelf after shelf of tinned meat, and I smile out ruefully into the endless heavens. I have several light years before I make it back to Earth with my story. And that's the exact amount of time I will need to clean out all the spam from my inbox.
By Brady Richards
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