It
is the year 2199. Since the great Clock Wars of the mid 21st century
time has become optional. Obviously, as an inescapable construct it
still exists, as a great philosopher once said, “time may change
me, but I can’t change time”. People still get old and die, food
still goes off, episodes of Hollyoaks still feel like they’ve been
on forever, even though you’re just a few minutes in. Or at least
you would be, if minutes were still widely used, but they’re not.
Neither are seconds, hours, weeks or months, they’ve all been
junked in favour of just doing what you bloody well feel like. Sounds
good, doesn’t it? To your feeble historical ears it probably sounds
liberating, like the oppressive shackles of organisation have been
cast aside. But hold your horses, I haven’t finished yet.
On
day one of your time free existence you would be overwhelmed by the
possibilities, and on day one there were actually some possibilities
to investigate. Sadly, a few days pass and everyone realises they’re
not obliged to abide by the rules set in place to make life liveable.
You decide not to go to work and go to the pub instead, the thought
of sitting there all day, supping glass after glass of refreshing,
mind numbing alcohol, plastering a retarded grin across your stupid,
stupid face. You’d drive only the road is littered with stationary
cars, nobody feels the need to park sensibly anymore because the
Traffic Wardens don’t bother turning up to work now, and when they
do issue a ticket the date and time by which you have to pay the fine
are utterly irrelevant. So you walk. After several hours spent
looking for a pub that’s bothered to open, you eventually find one.
None of your favourite beverages are available as the deliveries have
been sporadic at best and, frankly, it’s not a very pleasant
environment to be in. Nothing has been cleaned for a long time and
the staff are less than presentable, zombified by irregular sleep
patterns and a shoddy dietary routine. You settle on an Ouzo and
pineapple juice, partly because it’s all that’s left and partly
because at this point you’ll drink anything, but on trying to pay
you realise that instead of taking the money for your bills in
regular, manageable amounts, the bank has paid every thing for the
whole year. In advance. You are now several thousand pounds in debt,
but at least all of the utilities are taken care off.
A
nice hot bath, some beans on toast and some television. That’ll
make it all ok. Oh, what’s that, no hot water? That’s right, they
never fixed the pipes. Or the road after they dug it up, for that
matter. Or the electricity. Bollocks. No beans, no toast. NO
TELEVISION! Oh Christ! Maybe you should just go to work, work wasn’t
that bad after all and it would be nice to see some people. Thing is,
it’s dark now and the streetlights aren’t working. Haven’t been
for days, they used to work on a time switch but since the
dismantling of time it’s just a switch, and no one’s flicked it.
Can’t drive, tried that earlier, so you wait, for what might once
have been referred to as hours, for the bus to turn up. It doesn’t.
You go to check your watch but it isn’t there, instead you adjust
your government issued sweatband, decorated with a single, mocking
question mark.
This
is getting ridiculous. There must be something in your awkward little
life that doesn’t rely on time. Friends. Of course! You’ve
arranged to meet John and Peter on Thursday at six. Ah. Well, you’re
pretty sure that’s tomorrow, or whatever the next day lit bit is
called now. Human interaction, that will break up this constant
disappointment.
You
stand at the designated meeting point while day turns to night and
back to day. You watch the masses fumble around, blinking emptily,
confused and irritated. Peter and John never turn up. Gosh, that’s
annoying, isn’t it. It’s as if time, and using time to plan
future events, is an incredibly useful tool, binding the segments of
our existence together, into one enjoyable, recognisable whole. How
foolish you’ve been. If only you’d used it while you could. If
only you’d arrived when you said you would, not an hour and a half
later after you’d eaten and washed and watched the end of whatever.
Perhaps all those whining bastards were onto something, perhaps
you’ve been an inconsiderate shit, stranger things have happened.
Maybe – just maybe – you’ve had it all wrong all along, and
when someone says 10 ‘o’ clock, they’ve said it because up to
then they’re doing something and after 11 they’re doing something
too. Hey, maybe they could even have found something to do at 10 if
they hadn’t naively assumed they’d be seeing you. Yeah, that’s
right: You.
So,
when the Anti-Timers come, asking you to take up arms that don’t
have watches on, tell them to jog on. You’ve thought about it and
actually it does matter. Also you’re not convinced about the silver
jumpsuit uniform. Then hopefully we can avoid the war. So many
timepieces were lost, innocent every one, that needn’t have been.
Men fought over several years, and then, after years stopped, for a
bit longer. And for what. Me, I’ll just wander around in this time,
because it has one. And because I can’t get home. It’s difficult
to set the variables on the No Time Machine when I don’t know what
they are. Besides, we’re going for a pint after work aren’t we.
Don’t
be late.
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