Mrs. B

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Recommended: the influence in literature

It was not yet 7 AM, but they day was already growing hot. The country club’s bleary-eyed teenage employees were setting up chairs for a wedding, casually conversing as they wiped sweat from their foreheads. Across the golf course and out of their view, an older woman strode purposefully. The sun glistening off her blue sequined dress and foil coated boots would have surely blinded her if not for the colander atop her head. The ensemble was only made stranger by the broken toaster under her arm.
As she crested the hill by the seventh hole, she was suddenly visible to the group of teenagers. The shift manager, Bennett, was only perhaps 5 years older than the other workers, but wielded his little power fiercely. As soon as he saw the sun glint off the woman’s metallic attire, he whipped around to face his colleagues. “Guys!” he hissed urgently. “She’s coming!” The conversation was replaced by excited whispers as the teenagers realized what was about to happen.
Bennett shushed the group and turned around smiling as the woman made her way towards the emerging wedding setup. “Good morning, Ms. B!” he gushed. “How are you today?”
“I’m quite well, young man. But please resurge Mr. Barkley.” With that she handed Bennett the broken toaster. Upon seeing his consternation, she abruptly laughed.
“Oh no. What year is it?”
“2013,” the teenagers yelped gleefully.
Ms. B clapped a hand to the colander covering her forehead. “Well of course you can’t resurge Mr. Barkley,” she said matter-of-factly. “Tetracells aren’t near invention yet. You still have flesh-and-blood pets! But I suppose that’s what I get for trusting my silly old time machine,” she said, smiling as though she had made a trivial mistake like forgetting her purse. Then without fur...

... middle of paper ...

... point was that Peter knew he had no business prying. So he simply smiled back sheepishly, and walked quickly to his car.
The next week Peter was not particularly surprised to see a woman striding along in a wetsuit spray painted neon blue. The rest of the teenagers slipped into their usual routine of whispered mockery and stifled giggles while Bennett stepped forward authoritatively. Peter smiled and looked away as Mrs. B tried to plug a USB cord into Bennett’s shoe. When Bennett tried to explain that rubber was not a conductor of electricity at this point in time, Peter caught Mrs. B’s eye. She smirked at him and winked once, but didn’t say a word. And when Bennett discovered that their guest had left behind a pile of stapled together springs, Peter didn’t offer to return it. “I’ll just give it to her next time she comes,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.

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