Friday at last. Last week I published a story about the Friday Catcher. You can read it here: wp.me/p2Qoij-RX
A few comments lead me to come back to the story since none of us could figure out where time goes. Last Friday’s story had a character’s wife calling on Wednesday to find out where her husband was since he had disappeared. The supplier of the Friday Catcher (allows the user to wake up the next day and it is Friday) has no idea where the husband went. He quoted the old “where does the time go?” to try to explain. He told the wife he will be back Friday. The wife left the line.
Today’s story is from the POV of the user of the Friday Catcher. The idea is to explain where he went from the time he went to sleep Tuesday night to Friday.
Friday Catcher part two by John w. Howell ©2013
“Excuse me sir.”
“Yes son.”
“Can you tell me where we are? It looks like my town, but there is no one here.”
“Yeah it’s probably your town all right.”
“Where is everyone?”
“You used the Friday Catcher right?”
“Y-Yes I did. It sure didn’t work though. I was supposed to get up and it would be Friday morning.”
“Yeah that sounds like the way it was supposed to work.”
“So what’s the deal?”
“My name is Richard, What’s yours?”
“Robert, Go by Bobby though.”
“You from the south?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“Everyone adds a y to their name there.”
“Never thought about it before, but seems right to me. Where you from?”
“California.”
“California? What you doing in Texas?”
“I have been asking myself since nineteen ninety-four. I was in New York when someone hung that Friday Catcher above my bed.”
“Ninety four? Who hung the Friday Catcher?”
“One of the nurses.”
“Wait a minute. You were sick.”
“Boy you can say that again. Your president was a sick as hell. I must add I am not a crook.”
“My president? I could not place your face until now. Are you telling me you are Richard Nixon?”
“I prefer Richard Milhous Nixon.”
“Oh man. I am in real trouble.”
“Been there. Got the shirt.”
Have a great weekend y’all
Fiction Favorites 
All magic leads to Nixon.
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Had this fantasy that a caller put on hold on the telephone would run into characters like Nixon
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That would rather terrifying.
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Cool fiction! Haha! The call tree I have so often climbed only to fall out and have to climb another one. Didn’t Nixon really die in 1974? Geez…none of my kids were born when he left office. Ouch!
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According to the public records it was 1994. He could have died in 1974, but came back as a zombie which would explain Watergate which happened in 1972 as well. Thanks for the opportunity for one more joke at Nixon’s expense.
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Hahaha, John!
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Funny. Thanks
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An amusing bit of fiction John. There seems no doubt jokes will be made at Nixon’s expense for eternity.
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Thank you. So true.
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Very cool POV story. I found through Cayman’s blog He spoke awesomeness about you so I had to stop by and say hello. So glad I did. What a trippy story. I’m not a crook, classic.
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Thank you so much for stopping. I have always been fascinated by the personality disorder which Nixon seemed to have. He wanted to be liked, but didn’t know how to pull it off.
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[…] “Weirdest question I ever had was when an Australian asked me if they smelled like sheep. The accent was strong and the word sheep came out ‘schipe.’ I had to say, ‘Excuse me. What is schipe?’ ‘Ya know mite,’ he responded. ‘Them little wool covered things that go baaaa.’ –John Howell […]
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Awesome. 🙂 🙂
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Thank you my fellow American. 🙂
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