Legend of the Salad Traveler Page 3

  Chapter 3 – A Lead Presents Itself

   

  The dynamic and jovial atmosphere entering the pub would have normally taken Carl’s friend by surprise compared to the dreary, long-suffering, gloomy taverns he’d been accustomed to. Part of the energetic and kinematic activity could have been because of the wide variety of humanoids, insect-like creatures, and other life-forms hard to describe. They were scattered throughout, sitting at oddly shaped tables on what seemed to be chairs, but not ones comfortable for humans, if there was a way for humans to sit on them. Many of the creatures wore what Carl’s friend thought could be diapers or loin cloths. Considering his guide told him to watch his step to make sure he wouldn’t step in mounds of various shapes, colors, smells or consistencies, amazingly there was one pile that caught his attention. It looked like the violet petals of flowers. Seeing one yellow-hued, hairy creature barfing what looked like unpolished diamonds after taking a swig of a gray foaming drink, Carl’s friend now realized the origin of many of the small heaps littering the floor. At least he hoped he was correct in his assumption.

  “What’s this place?” Carl’s friend asked, watching his step as they navigated through the room.

  “It’s where seekers, travelers, and those lost come to take a rest from trying to find wayward and lost items or their way back home.”

  “Oh, you mean like a missing or lost sock…after you do laundry?”

  The guide rolled his eyes. “Geeesh, the first thing you humans think about when you come through here is lost socks? Ever thought the sock may have gotten tired being constantly stuck and paired up with the other sock? How’d you like to be sitting around all day folded next to a sock just like you, no one else to talk to, running out of things to say after a while except maybe something like, ‘What type of shoes do you think he’s gonna wear this time?’ or, ‘Hey, his feet aren’t particularly smelly today.’ Conversation can get boring pretty quick. I mean I know some socks, and they can be very nice, except gym socks, they tend to have an attitude.”

  “You new around here?  Haven’t seen you before,” a strange alien-like creature said, introducing himself with a gentle gesture of placing his fingers on his forehead and then slowly lowering his hand until it rested palm up at chest height.   

  Carl’s friend introduced himself to the tall silver-toned individual responding with his name, which happened to be the same as the alien’s.

  “How dare you have the same name as me?” the alien roared.   “I’m offended!  No one else should have that name.”  On and on the tall fellow bellowed angrily, slamming his fist on the bar top, his face becoming flush, for what one might consider a silver-toned person being flushed, continuing to berate Carl’s friend about his name. 

  Carl’s friend’s guide gently nudged his companion away from the ranting alien, who was now more concerned about going off on a verbal tirade and, apparently not noticing the focal point of his antagonism, had disappeared.

  “Why’s he so pissed about my name?”

  “You shouldn’t have introduced yourself with your name. Where he’s from, they’re all named the same,” the guide answered.  “Why do think they’re so cranky?”

  “How do they know who’s who, if they’re all named the same?”

  “Their smell.” Leading Carl’s friend to a table accommodating two chairs designed for humans, they sat down. The guide waved to a barmaid who promptly came over. “Ever have a Parson’s Persimpimple Spiked Punch?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Carl’s friend replied. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  The guide smiled and focused on the barmaid. “We’ll take two.”

  After the barmaid left to go and fulfill the drink order, Carl’s friend noticed his guide casting a troubled look across the room.

  “What’s wrong?” Carl’s friend wondered aloud, noticing the change of expressions on his guide.

  “Don’t turn around. Over there sitting in the dark corner, we may have some trouble.”

  Of course, Carl’s friend turned around only to see a salad, not his of course, sitting on a table in the darkened corner of the bar with subdued illumination from a recessed light presenting an ominous appearance.

  “All I see is just that salad over there,” Carl’s friend noted.

  “Yeah, and it looks pissed.”

  You see, Carl’s friend’s salad was getting so good at popping in and out of existence at different locations that it sometimes got sloppy and altered some basic rules of inter-dimensional travel, one being to ensure to replace an equal amount of mass with another equal amount of mass. Now, this wouldn’t bring about the destruction of alternate universes, because dark matter would compensate for the unbalanced amount of matter. But, most times, if something or someone else was displaced and adjustments weren’t made for some sort of equilibrium, those displaced became extremely mad. And this is what happened to the salad on the table thanks to Carl’s friend’s salad, thinking Carl’s friend had something to do with the displacement, but couldn’t prove it.

  While the two were sitting in the bar with their drinks, Carl’s friend’s guide seemed to be enjoying himself. Carl’s friend thought the drink tasted like peppermint-flavored mud, but kept drinking so as not to offend his travelling mate. A short man, no taller than 4’ 6”, in a suit, tie and what appeared to be translucent sneakers, walked into the pub with a briefcase in hand. The entire bar hushed. He placed his briefcase on the floor, opened it and pulled out a couple sheets of magenta colored paper.

  “Who’s that?” Carl’s friend whispered to his guide, not wanting to be singled out as overly disruptive during the onset of silence.

  “He’s from the bureau, and he’s gonna read off the list of items lost, items found, and if we’re lucky, where we can meet up with them.”

  “Bureau? What bureau?”

  “What bureau? There’s only one bureau. Your planet is really in the boondocks, isn’t it? Now keep quiet, we don’t wanna miss anything.”

  “On behalf of the Inter-dimensional and Multi-universal Transportation Bureau,” the short man began, “I hereby declare the following aliens, entities, spectrals, beings, organisms, creatures, and anyone else not identified, but who would be included in the register as lost, misplaced or on an unanticipated or extended vacation, can be reconciled through support of the ministry. We have one Yorebor Hunter, three different Quollanthrian hat ensembles…” Carl’s friend had never heard of many of the names, not sure if they were persons, objects or some other unknown entities.

  Continuing for a full fifteen minutes, the bar crier authoritatively and methodically read the entire list of names almost without taking a breath, which is why he was selected for the job. At the end of the list, Carl’s friend recognized the final name. “… and one salad,” the crier completed.

  Now, through the entire reading of the list, socks weren’t mentioned. That’s because they petitioned with success to remove themselves from being on the bureau’s list of those wanting to be considered lost or to be found. They wanted nothing more than to escape for a while, some settling down in far off places, maybe snuggling up with one another and reading a good book. They were a very xenophobic group.

  “Come on,” Carl’s friend’s guide directed towards Carl’s friend, both men heading over to the announcer.

  “Excuse us sir,” Carl’s friend’s guide asked of the orator, “but the salad you mentioned, would that happen to be my friend’s salad? You weren’t very clear.”

  “Your friend being?” the orator answered, putting the papers back into his briefcase, preparing to make his departure.

  “Him…right here.”

  The short man looked up scanning Carl’s friend up and down. “Human I take it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Green earth version realm four or green earth dimensional realm two?” the short man asked. “I doubt he’s from green earth, realm three, they hate
salads.”

  “Blue earth.”

  Reviewing the paperwork before closing up his briefcase with authority, the announcer gave his answer, “Sorry, no lost salads reporting in, only salads attempting to return home such as the one that was sitting off to the side in the corner. Don’t know where he ran off to though; can’t hold up the transport all day.”

  Both men headed back to their seats, noticing the salad in the corner was now gone.

  “Well, that was a waste,” Carl’s friend commented.

  “Naw, just a minor setback.”

  Carl’s friend almost having forgotten about the origin of his quest and being more enthralled by the unique excursion he found himself on, redirected his thoughts to getting home and beginning his broadcast. This was the first time he thought about looking at his cell phone to see what time it was. Unlocking the phone and entering his passcode, the date on top of the multi-touch screen displayed, “Come back, try again tomorrow.” His phone had never displayed that before. At the bottom of screen, it displayed, “1 Missed Call.” He didn’t recognize the number, especially since it had only 4 digits, several Calculus related symbols and a couple of geometric terms all interspersed and followed by an equals sign, then a smiley-face, looking more like a mutated mathematical formula.

  Carl’s friend’s guide noticed the puzzled look on Carl’s friend and glanced down at the phone to see what captured his attention.

  “Hey, I know that number,” Carl’s friend’s guide blurted out. “That belongs to an acquaintance of mine, but I thought she was still out of our time-space continuum.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Carl’s friend queried sarcastically.

  “Nope, she went shopping, looking for a pair of shoes. Wonder how she got your number?”

  It so happened that the salad and Carl’s friend’s guide’s friend passed one another and realized they both had a lot of common interests. Wanting to keep in touch, the salad, not having a phone, decided to use Carl’s friend’s cell phone number, both agreeing to call one another later and plan to meet for lunch. Apparently, she got a little anxious.

  “You wanna call her back?” Carl’s friend asked.

  “Naw, she tends to drone on and on.”

  That’s the same thing the salad thought, meeting and speaking to her, but he did enjoy their conversation. Not many people can keep up an interesting conversation with a salad, and the salad really appreciated that about her.

  “Don’t want to waste your minutes,” the guide continued. “Roaming around here can be quite pricey.”

  While holding the phone, it vibrated with the display illuminating, “Incoming Call,” the caller ID presenting the unique set of symbols they were just viewing.

  “I’ll get it,” the guide said with glee, snatching the phone from Carl’s friend.

  I guess he really does want to talk to her, Carl’s friend thought.

  “Hello,” the guide answered, and after a brief silence, continued on. “Yeah it’s me, how’d you recognized my voice?”

  Carl’s friend listened to his guide’s long conversation, sometimes trivial and drawn out by the fact the guide was using his hand to mimic someone yapping away by flapping his four fingers against their thumb and rolling his eyes, wanting to interrupt but maintaining civility. It was a question the guide asked that caught Carl’s friend’s attention.

  “By the way, how’d you get this number?” After a short stint of silence, the guide continued. “Really? I’ll definitely have to pass it on to him. But no, the salad’s not here. If we do catch up to him, we’ll make sure he calls.” With that the guide terminated the call.

  “What was all that about?” Carl’s friend asked.

  “She actually came across your salad. That’s who she was trying to call.”

  “Did she say where it was?”

  “She didn’t know, just something about it being unexpectedly sidetracked, coming across a delusional apprentice to a magician while trying to get the hang of popping in and out of existence in different universes and ending up in the wrong location. Didn’t mention where it was going.”

  “That’s not really helpful, is it?” Carl’s friend frowned.

  The guide looked in disbelief at his companion. “You don’t get it, do you? We can head to the ministry and track him down.”

  “Track who down? What ministry? The bureau that announcing guy’s from?”

  “No. Different agency. An unregistered salad popping in and out here and there is surely going to raise a few eyebrows. A couple of infractions may be overlooked, but if he keeps this up, I think we have a good chance of them tracking him down where they monitor these things, and us catching up to him. Want another drink?”

  Carl’s friend declined.