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The scent of tasty breakfast delights floats through the morning air. Crispy bacon sizzling on the grill. Mountains of warm, fluffy eggs with piping hot steam drifting off their summit. Soft buns glazed thick with sugar, ready to melt apart in one’s mouth. The delicious smells waft strongly through the mall food court.
All food kiosks are fully operational at 10am, except for one. The Cinnabon storefront sits dark and empty. Owner Walter Brown arrives and curses loudly.
“Where the hell is that peckerhead?” shouted Brown, teaching nearby children a new word, for which they are grateful. “I’ll bet he forgot to set his clocks forward for daylight savings time.”
“I don’t recognize your man-made time change, Walter,” said employee John Hauser, appearing as if by clockwork. “I’m right on time, both for Cinnabon and the universe in which our very concept of time is based.”
“Work starts at 9am,” said Brown. “Spring forward, fall back. You should have set your clock forward an hour. Showing up at 10 is grounds for dismissal.”
“It’s not physically possible for it to be 10am right now,” said Hauser. “Not unless the entirety of North America and Europe are encased within a giant stainless steel Delorean DMC-12 that was traveling exactly 88mph at 2am last night. You’re not a god, Walter. You’re the manager of Cinnabon. It’s time for you to grow up and stop pretending you have time traveling abilities.”
Rather than have a loud confrontation in front of customers, Brown sighed and took the path of least resistance, adjusting Hauser’s schedule from 9-6 to 10-7.
“I wish I had another employee who was over the age of 16,” said Hauser, sneaking some bourbon into his diet soda can while hanging his jacket in the office.
Hauser has been fired from seven jobs in the past three years, all but one of them because of daylight savings time. The lone standout, a record store, fired him for telling a customer that “only child molesters listen to The Beatles.” Hauser brought five full boxes of evidence to the wrongful termination hearing, but was unable to convince the judge that only “chesters” listen to the band.
When Hauser meets people who abide by daylight savings time, he refuses to acknowledge them, explaining that they’re on a different plane of existence than him for the months of March to November.
“Goddamn it, I asked you to get more cinnamon from the back. I know you can hear me!” said Brown. “Don’t give me that plane of existence crap. I don’t care how many universes there are in the multiverse! Just because I turn my clocks forward for a few months each year doesn’t mean I cease to exist!”
“I will complete your request in one hour, when our space time continuum syncs,” said Hauser. “To perform the act of collecting cinnamon any sooner would create a tear in time itself, ripping all of us apart from the very insides of our buttholes. I’m sorry, but I cannot help you, Walter. You knew last night was the start of your pagan ritual of daylight savings time. You should have planned ahead.”
Brown filled his empty soda can with the remainder of the bourbon while fetching the cinnamon himself. “Bourbon glaze. Part of the recipe,” slurred Brown to a customer who asked about the strong odor.
Shocking as it may seem, this isn’t the first time Hauser has refused to believe in something mainstream.
“I don’t believe in diet soda,” said Hauser back in 2013, causing his co-worker to carry her lunch into the restroom so she could eat in peace. “It’s all just smoke and mirrors within our society’s twisted paradigm as it whorishly feeds upon corporate subterfuge!”
In 2014, Hauser claimed he didn’t believe in Tuesdays, denouncing them as a conspiracy invented by taco conglomerates. In 2015, he refused to believe in underwear, proudly proclaiming his intent to go commando to nearly every customer he served at Chuck E. Cheese. As Hauser droned on about “the man-made rape culture of time”, Brown got an idea.
“Isn’t the very concept of time an invention of humans?” said Brown. “Since time itself is man-made, isn’t the very existence of any timeline or base measure of events in the multiverse just part of the egotistical lies we tell ourselves? Shouldn’t you get your ass back to work before my foot breaks itself off in your butt?”
A look of enlightenment washed over Hauser’s face. Before he could respond, Brown did exactly what he promised, thrusting his foot as hard as he could into Hauser’s backside, tearing a shoelace off his loafer in the process. As Hauser laid on the ground overcome with pain, he forgot all about which universe he was in and the rules of time bound to said universe.
“Work starts at nine and ends at six. The Big Bang Theory starts at 7pm,” said Brown. “You will do a half-assed job here and go watch that half-assed show. Then you’ll spend your entire paycheck trying to get laid, and when that doesn’t work, you’ll get really high and play video games until your next check comes. That’s life in every dimension, kid. Get used to it.”
Hauser briefly attempted to argue the Big Bang Theory requirement, but was thwarted with another swift kick to the groin.