The Anatomy of a Time Trap

For those out there who laugh at us geeks who are into blue police boxes used as decoration, obsess over the philosophical implications of time travel, and really, really want one of these as a gift for any upcoming occasion, I want to offer proof that we’re not as crazy as you might have thought.

I present exhibit A: the stairs to our apartment building.

You see, they look like normal stairs, but this is deceptive. I’m not certain if their hidden nature is due to tinkering by an alien race, or perhaps because the building was constructed over an extradimensional fault line, or if they have been enchanted by some mischievous magician. The fact is, however, that they are not just normal stairwells. Both of the stairwells in our building are, in fact, time vortexes. And those who live on the first floor have no idea how fortunate they are.

How do I know that we live atop a set of time vortexes, you ask? It’s simple. The evidence is there every day. What’s most devious about these vortexes is that they are minor, just large enough to be effective. You see, whenever one is caught in a time vortex, one doesn’t realize how much time is actually passing. When one is inside of a time vortex, time moves at a different rate for them than for the rest of the universe. Imagine the particularly cruel experience of unwittingly stumbling into a time vortex, going through what you think is an hour in your own time, only to emerge and face the realization that the world around you has aged fifty years. Everyone thought you were missing never to return, the world is so different you could never adjust…you get the idea.

Well,  time vortexes work on a shorter scale, as well, and they are able to cause a spectacular amount of havoc in one’s day when they do. The vortexes hidden in the vertical concrete tubes of our stairwells, for example, are limited to about ten minutes in my best estimation. The evidence for this? No matter how early I begin, no matter how early I leave our apartment, the result is always the same: when I get into my car in the parking lot, turn the key over and notice the clock on the dashboard, ten minutes have vanished. As best I can tell, it has only taken me two to walk from the apartment downstairs to the car, perhaps with a third to get my things together upstairs and loaded into the car downstairs. But, you see, that is how a time vortex works. The rest of the world has apparently aged ten minutes.

So, if you account for every time I leave and return during the course of an average day, that could be an hour of my life that I’m losing daily. And you complain about your commute?

Of course, the residents on the first floor must not experience this. I’m considering polling everyone else in the building, though, to see if they’ve experienced this vortex.

In the meantime, I keep hoping for that sonic screwdriver. Perhaps then I’ll have the necessary equipment to scan the vortexes properly and find a way to stop this most nefarious of tricks.

Photo Attribution: Ewen and Donabel 


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