The Temporal Turbulence of Fredrick G. Plimpton

If there was ever a man less suited for time travel, it was Fredrick G. Plimpton, a mild-mannered insurance adjuster with a crippling fear of anything newer than a fax machine. And yet, through an incident that could only be described as a cosmic administrative error, Fredrick found himself catapulted 25 years into the past, specifically to the year 1998.

The culprit was a vending machine. Not just any vending machine, mind you, but one of those newfangled "smart" ones installed at his office, the kind that offered kombucha alongside the more traditional Snickers bars. Fredrick had merely been trying to retrieve his bag of pretzels when the screen flashed an alarming message: "Temporal Displacement in Progress. Please Stand By." Before he could comprehend the absurdity of it, the machine emitted a mechanical wheeze, and Fredrick vanished in a puff of vaguely citrus-scented smoke.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on a patch of grass that smelled like fresh-cut optimism. The air was eerily clean, and the distant sound of a Backstreet Boys song drifted on the breeze. Fredrick sat up, adjusted his glasses, and took stock. He was no longer outside his office building in 2023. Instead, he was in a public park, surrounded by people wearing clothes he vaguely remembered from his youth—baggy jeans, chokers, and crop tops that dared gravity to do its worst.

Fredrick wandered aimlessly, his khakis and polo shirt marking him as an alien among the natives. His first realization came quickly: his smartphone was useless. It displayed no signal, no apps, and—most horrifyingly—no Wi-Fi. He tried asking a teenage girl with a butterfly clip in her hair where he might find an "internet connection," and she looked at him as though he’d asked for directions to Atlantis.

Panicked, Fredrick ducked into a nearby coffee shop. A cardboard sign outside advertised "Espresso! Cappuccino! Internet Café!" in Comic Sans. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and grunge music. Fredrick approached the counter, where a barista with blue hair and an eyebrow piercing was arranging muffins that looked suspiciously like paperweights.

"Do you have Wi-Fi?" Fredrick asked hopefully.

The barista squinted at him. "Wi-Fi? Dude, this isn’t Star Trek. We’ve got dial-up in the back if you wanna check your AOL."

Fredrick’s heart sank. AOL? Dial-up? He suddenly remembered the unholy screech of a modem connecting to the internet, a sound he hadn’t heard since his college days. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures. He paid for an hour of computer time and sat down at a bulky machine that looked more like a microwave than a PC. After navigating a labyrinth of loading screens, he managed to type, “How to get back to the future” into a search engine. The results were less than helpful, mostly consisting of articles about the Michael J. Fox movie.

By the time he left the café, Fredrick was both discouraged and deeply caffeinated. He decided to head for the one place that might hold answers: a library. Libraries, he reasoned, were timeless institutions—portals to knowledge that transcended the petty bounds of decades. Unfortunately, the library’s computer system was even more archaic than the coffee shop’s. Fredrick was forced to consult a librarian, a stern woman with a perm so voluminous it deserved its own ZIP code.

"Excuse me," Fredrick began. "I need information on...uh...time travel."

The librarian raised an eyebrow but said nothing, leading him to a dusty section labeled “Science Fiction” before abandoning him to his fate. Fredrick spent the next two hours flipping through novels by H.G. Wells and Isaac Asimov, none of which offered practical advice for returning to the 21st century. His growing despair was momentarily alleviated when he found a "Goosebumps" book he remembered from his childhood. He checked it out, reasoning that if he couldn’t escape 1998, he might as well indulge in some nostalgia.

Adjusting to 1998

Over the next few days, Fredrick tried his best to adapt to his new reality. He opened a checking account (a grueling process involving actual paper forms) and rented a room at a budget motel that boasted "Color TV and Air Conditioning!" in its advertisements. His attempts to explain his situation to anyone were met with polite nods or outright laughter. Even the local conspiracy theorist, a man named Gary who lived in a van and wore tinfoil hats unironically, thought Fredrick’s story was too far-fetched.

Fredrick’s greatest challenge, however, was surviving without the conveniences of modern technology. He missed his GPS, his smartwatch, and his ability to order pad Thai at the touch of a button. He mourned the loss of streaming services, reduced instead to renting VHS tapes from a video store that smelled like mildew and regret. And don’t even get him started on the horror of late ‘90s fashion. After a particularly humiliating trip to the mall, Fredrick found himself the reluctant owner of a pair of cargo pants and a shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Don’t Have a Cow, Man."

Despite these hardships, Fredrick did his best to blend in. He bought a pager, which he carried with all the enthusiasm of someone smuggling contraband, and he memorized the lyrics to My Heart Will Go On in case anyone challenged his temporal legitimacy. Slowly but surely, he built a semblance of a life. He even got a job selling office supplies, a role that felt both ironic and appropriate given the circumstances.

A Chance Encounter

Fredrick had just begun to accept his fate when he met a kindred spirit. Her name was Lisa, and she was the assistant manager at the video store where he rented his weekly supply of bad action movies. Lisa was sharp, funny, and utterly unconcerned with the Y2K hysteria that gripped the nation.

"You’re the only customer who doesn’t ask if the computers will explode when the clock hits midnight," she said one evening as she rang up his rental.

Fredrick smiled sheepishly. "That’s because I know they won’t."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Let’s just say I’ve seen the future," Fredrick replied, deciding it was close enough to the truth.

Lisa laughed, a sound so genuine that it made Fredrick’s heart ache. They began spending time together outside the store, bonding over their mutual love of terrible B-movies and greasy diner food. For the first time since his arrival, Fredrick felt something other than panic. He felt...happy.

The Unexpected Opportunity

Fredrick’s peaceful existence was upended one afternoon when he stumbled upon an old newspaper article tucked inside a library book. The article detailed a "Temporal Experiment" conducted by a local university in 1998. According to the piece, the experiment involved a prototype machine capable of manipulating time—a machine that had been mysteriously dismantled after an unexplained "incident."

Fredrick’s heart raced. Could this be his ticket home? He wasted no time tracking down the university, where he convinced a skeptical janitor to let him into the abandoned lab. There, amidst cobwebs and outdated equipment, he found it: a hulking contraption that looked like a cross between a tanning bed and a photocopier.

Fredrick spent the next few days poring over the machine’s user manual, which was written in dense scientific jargon. Lisa, ever curious, joined him in the lab, helping him decipher the instructions. Together, they managed to power up the machine, which emitted a hum so ominous it made Fredrick’s teeth vibrate.

"Are you sure about this?" Lisa asked as Fredrick prepared to step inside.

He hesitated, looking at her. "No. But if it works, I might be able to get back to my own time."

Lisa nodded, her expression unreadable. "Well, if anyone can survive a temporal cataclysm, it’s you."

Fredrick smiled, but the moment was bittersweet. He’d grown fond of Lisa and the life they’d built together. Leaving it all behind felt like losing something precious.

The Leap Home

With a deep breath, Fredrick activated the machine. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of light and sound, and he felt as though he were being stretched in every direction at once. When the sensation finally subsided, he opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor of his office break room. The vending machine loomed above him, its screen flashing a cheery message: "Transaction Complete. Thank You!"

Fredrick scrambled to his feet, overwhelmed by the sight of his familiar surroundings. His smartwatch buzzed with a notification, and the comforting glow of Wi-Fi bars greeted him like an old friend. It was 2023 again.

The Aftermath

Fredrick returned to his daily routine, but he couldn’t shake the memories of 1998. He thought often of Lisa and wondered what had become of her. One day, on a whim, he searched for her online and discovered that she’d become a successful filmmaker. Her most recent movie? A romantic comedy about a time traveler who gets stuck in the past.

Fredrick bought a ticket to the premiere. As he watched the story unfold on screen, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, some connections were timeless after all.