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IFA Review, v. 1, issue 2, September-October 1940

Page 18

The world had gone mad about me. By some strange electrical anomaly, I now lived and moved in a familiar world inhabited by incredibly slow-moving creatures and machines.

I hurried on past the creeping truck and it's frozen-faced driver toward the city where I worked. A good half hour's walk it was; yet, by my watch, I reached the business district in less than six seconds!

Mentally checking the difference between actual walking time and the six second period I came to the stunning conclusion that I was moving at a pace three hundred and fifty times as fast as the world about me! No wonder my clothes plastered tight against my body and a thick flood of air seemed to surround and crush at me!

The walk into town had made very real the emptiness of my stomach. I stepped into Jim's Diner; found an empty stool and ordered a bowl of cereal and coffee. Cheeky, the night man, stared blankly at the stubby tip of the fingernail he was cleaning with a dull knife-blade and moved not a muscle.

I tossed down fifteen cents; went behind the counter to assemble my order, and proceeded to eat it. As I finished the last sluggish drink of coffee, Cheeky's knife had shifted an inch or so away from it's grimy task and his head had shifted a fraction of an inch in my direction.

Then I returned to the rain-soaked street, walked around the scores of wax-like figures carrying their dinner buckets -- men who worked on the same shift with me. I saw my boss, his left foot poised motionless in the air before him. The burly, red-faced man who ran the machines besides me stood precariously on the curb at an intersection, his shiny black bucket, well-stuffed with food, dangling from his two fingers.

Back swept my foot and up in an arc that ended against the dinner-pail. End over end the bucket turned, it's rectangular outlines flattening out shapelessly as it went.

"Bull-headed, conceited bully!" I shouted in his unhearing ears. "Pour oil in my thermos bottle, will you!"

A moment later I was ashamed of myself for yielding to that malicious impulse. All the ten remaining blocks up the hill I kept my eyes ahead. These slow-moving human sloths were helpless, I told myself, and I must treat them kindly.

I came to the factory and breezed by the gateman with a derisive flick of my fingers before his eyes. No need for a badge or number now! Then I was racing up the four flights of concrete steps to my department's time clock.

I rang in my card and slipped it into it's usual place. Then I went to my machines, oiled them, checked the dies, and laid out my tools and waste. For a long time, an hour or more, I worked around them until they were in perfect order. I looked at my watch. Five, fifty-one, it read. Plenty of time to go downtown and eat another sandwich.

Down the hill again I hurried, threading my way through the unmoving human posts that thronged the streets. An imp of mischief prompted me to untie half a dozen men's neckties and drape them artistically (?) around a statuesque dark-haired girl's head. I took the heavy work-shoe from an overalled man's upraised foot and laced it securely over the trimly-shod foot of another motionless woman.

New and more daring ideas struck my fancy. A shiny green sedan, driven by a pompous, middle-aged man with a sour-faced, elderly woman at his side poised on the highway nearby. Looking about I selected the prettiest girl I could see; carried her to the car, and put the wooden-faced woman in the back seat. Then I snuggled the little blonde beauty close up to the driver and closed the door.

As I neared another intersection I saw that two cars were about to crash together. By the fixed expressions of horror on both driver's faces and the fact that the wheels of both cars were visibly moving, I realized that they were travelling at a dangerous pace. I could, of course, do nothing to alter their headlong courses, but I could save their passengers.

Saving...

The world had gone mad about me. By some strange electrical anomaly, I now lived and moved in a familiar world inhabited by incredibly slow-moving creatures and machines. I hurried on past the creeping truck and it's frozen-faced driver toward the city where I worked. A good half hour's walk it was; yet, by my watch, I reached the business district in less than six seconds! Mentally checking the difference between actual walking time and the six second period I came to the stunning conclusion that I was moving at a pace three hundred and fifty times as fast as the world about me! No wonder my clothes plastered tight against my body and a thick flood of air seemed to surround and crush at me! The walk into town had made very real the emptiness of my stomach. I stepped into Jim's Diner; found an empty stool and ordered a bowl of cereal and coffee. Cheeky, the night man, stared blankly at the stubby tip of the fingernail he was cleaning with a dull knife-blade and moved not a muscle. I tossed down fifteen cents; went behind the counter to assemble my order, and proceeded to eat it. As I finished the last sluggish drink of coffee, Cheeky's knife had shifted an inch or so away from it's grimy task and his head had shifted a fraction of an inch in my direction. Then I returned to the rain-soaked street, walked around the scores of wax-like figures carrying their dinner buckets -- men who worked on the same shift with me. I saw my boss, his left foot poised motionless in the air before him. The burly, red-faced man who ran the machines besides me stood precariously on the curb at an intersection, his shiny black bucket, well-stuffed with food, dangling from his two fingers. Back swept my foot and up in an arc that ended against the dinner-pail. End over end the bucket turned, it's rectangular outlines flattening out shapelessly as it went. "Bull-headed, conceited bully!" I shouted in his unhearing ears. "Pour oil in my thermos bottle, will you!" A moment later I was ashamed of myself for yielding to that malicious impulse. All the ten remaining blocks up the hill I kept my eyes ahead. These slow-moving human sloths were helpless, I told myself, and I must treat them kindly. I came to the factory and breezed by the gateman with a derisive flick of my fingers before his eyes. No need for a badge or number now! Then I was racing up the four flights of concrete steps to my department's time clock. I rang in my card and slipped it into it's usual place. Then I went to my machines, oiled them, checked the dies, and laid out my tools and waste. For a long time, an hour or more, I worked around them until they were in perfect order. I looked at my watch. Five, fifty-one, it read. Plenty of time to go downtown and eat another sandwich. Down the hill again I hurried, threading my way through the unmoving human posts that thronged the streets. An imp of mischief prompted me to untie half a dozen men's neckties and drape them artistically (?) around a statuesque dark-haired girl's head. I took the heavy work-shoe from an overalled man's upraised foot and laced it securely over the trimly-shod foot of another motionless woman. New and more daring ideas struck my fancy. A shiny green sedan, driven by a pompous, middle-aged man with a sour-faced, elderly woman at his side poised on the highway nearby. Looking about I selected the prettiest girl I could see; carried her to the car, and put the wooden-faced woman in the back seat. Then I snuggled the little blonde beauty close up to the driver and closed the door. As I neared another intersection I saw that two cars were about to crash together. By the fixed expressions of horror on both driver's faces and the fact that the wheels of both cars were visibly moving, I realized that they were travelling at a dangerous pace. I could, of course, do nothing to alter their headlong courses, but I could save their passengers.