One Day Off

The smell of exhaust and fumes itch my nose. It always smells worse when it's cold.

It's my one day off this week, and I know exactly what I plan to do: Nothing.

Or at least, that's what the VR techs will say.

Everything is digital, now. Cars are started and controlled by touch-screen. Elevators are voice-operated, which can get pretty confusing when you have multiple people shouting over each other, or kids screaming random numbers like the other adults. Vending machines at least have buttons, but they only accept e-payments from your devices. No slot for coins, no place to insert a card. If you're peckish, you better hope the network isn't down today.

Hardly anything is paper, now. Environmental conservation came in a bit too late, but boy did it hit hard. Paper products became restricted, with most currency becoming digitally controlled, books skyrocketing in prices, libraries, magazines, and books going 99% digital, and stuff like paper towels and toilet paper simply vanishing over the course of two or three years. I occasionally see a Charmin or Brawny package on ebay for more than my paycheck.

No one really questions if increasing the production of electronics really offsets the trees that don't get cut down. Everyone is too busy living for this moment to worry about the next.

As I wait for the light to change at the crosswalk, I check the time on my phone. 8:47AM. I still have time if I powerwalk, and don't hit any icy spots. My paycheck doesn't come until next week, and I had to choose between bus-fare and groceries while budgeting. I did start my car this morning, just to keep the battery warm, but I didn't go anywhere. I haven't actually driven anywhere in... let's see, it's November now, so... July 4th, for the family barbecue. With gas as expensive as it is, I can't afford to use it to commute. I'm lucky enough that I live walking distance from work, though, so that's something. Granted, it's still a 30-minute walk, but it's better than adding an extra $40 a week in gas. I'm already running on ramen and peanut-butter.

I'm not the only one suffering from fuel fatigue. I see a rideshare van drive up, dropping off a family of five before continuing on to its next fare. They start walking the same way I am, and I can guess their destination: Archie's VR Parlor.

VR Parlors started off as a trend about 10 years ago, but they hit the mainstream hard five years ago! Some genius came up with Time-Racerz, a unique IP. It was a full-fledged hours-long story with an engaging plot, complex characters, twists, action, and even quiet moments. Only, instead of publishing it as a movie, or at least a videogame, they made it 100% VR-Exclusive. It was the next big pop-culture craze, the story you just had to experience to get all the references people were spouting! So, the few active VR Parlors across the nation suddenly became so popular, they exploded nation-wide! Some merged, others sold out, but in the end, VR became the default entertainment, topped only by Sunday-Night Football; and even then, the Parlors offered "tickets" to see the game from the field-level point of view!

I file in behind the family. The kids are jumping up and down, thrilled to be here! The receptionist goes through the usual spiel, and asks the parents questions who's answers I politely ignore. Then, after they scrawl their signatures on her pad, it's my turn.

"Welcome to Archie's! Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, I'm scheduled for Full-Day, starting at 9?" I give her my name.

"Ah... yes, here you are! And I see you're paying in advanced installments, so that's all good." She types a bit more on her keyboard, her eyes flitting across the transparent one-way monitor. "Allllllright! I have you set for Suite 14! Will you be requiring any assistance today?"

"No, thank you. I think I've got it."

"No problem! If you have any questions or concerns, a Tech will be right with you!" She holds out her pad to me. "If you could sign right here? Thank you! Now, if you just take your badge, and follow the lights, they'll guide you to your suite!"

"Thank you." I take the offered badge, and make my way down the hall. It's not quite second nature, but I'm getting used to it. This is only my fifth time here. Holding my badge, I watch as the LED strip along the wall blinks in sequence, leading me down to the correct door. As I pass by other doors, I can hear the familiar sounds of shouting and whooping, with the occasional mechanical whir.

Finally, I reach Suite 14, the doors opening for me automatically. I take the time to remove my hat, jacket, and shoes in the little mud-room area provided, ignoring cleaned and pressed full-body tunics waiting on the hangar. The room itself is shaped like the inside of an egg standing on its round end, the walls and floor covered completely in hexagonal cushions. My footing is unsteady on the over-soft ground, but I manage. With a mechanical hiss, a matte black coffin descends from the ceiling, opening into a spidery looking hand, beckoning me forward.

"That will never not be ominous," I mutter.

As I've done before, I sit in the palm of the "hand," letting my arms and legs slot neatly into their designated spots. And I remember that this is where it gets weird. As the suit closes , it adjusts around me like some macabre massage chair, the plates of the cushioned armor shifting and aligning with my figure. Then, as I expected, it the cushions squeeze me with a hiss of compressed air, like a massive blood-pressure cuff.

And then, it stops. And as I stand, the suit moves with me, with almost no delay. The air-filled cushions on the inside feedback instantly to the suit, letting it move with me. I glance down, and see I appear to be standing on an invisible floor, two inches above the plush hexagons on the actual floor. I take my time getting used to this, let the suit make smaller and smaller adjustments as it attunes to me. And then, once I feel ready, I bring up the Parlor's "Adventure Catalogue" on the suit's HUD.

In this day and age, travel is a luxury for the rich, or lucky. So, one more niche that these VR Parlors filled nicely were vacation packages. I see packages for theme-parks, and I think back to the family I followed in; they're probably here for a winter vacation. I also see options for extreme sports, like sailing or skydiving. I remember trying out the Zip-line tour, and it was definitely interesting! The suit goes out of its way to make you feel like you're strapped into a harness, and it even has little air-jets in the suit to make you feel the wind blowing through your face and hair. Not too hard, of course, since you can't actually touch your own body through the suit, but enough that most people can suspend their disbelief easily enough.

A few movie studios have also leased the rights to their films to Parlors, so people can race down the trench of the Deathstar, or defending Helm's Deep from Saruman's forces. And of course, you can edit the sims, alter them, or save them to your account for a later session, so you can play to your heart's content, and be the hero you always wanted.

The session I open up is special, however.

As my custom edited sim loads, I can't help but wonder what the techs are thinking as they monitor me for my safety. People pay out the nose for wild and crazy experiences that they will never have in their lifetime.

Me? I'm paying out the nose to relive experiences I will never have again.

The fire crackles merrily in the hearth, pine logs burning, filling the room with a perfect autumn incense. I sit down in the plush leather armchair, the same one my grandpa used to have when he was alive. This is his study, or at least the best recreation I could make of it from memory. His cabin was sold after he died, when I was very young, and all the pictures we had were lost over the many moves. The sun is setting outside the window, and I can faintly hear the call of a loon on the lake.

Reaching over, I pick up the book. Its pages are worn and weary, and I would dearly love to shake the hand of whoever programmed them to feel this real. My thumb flips through the pages, until I finally reach the soft leather bookmark I had made for my grandfather in art class. Whenever we visited, he would read to me from a book of my choosing, and would mark where we left off when my parents and I had to leave.

I never did find that bookmark after he died. Maybe he's still using it.

The chapter I left off on was special. It was the one we both had the most fun reading. He would put on this creepy, slimy voice of the creature Golumn, asking a scared and worried Bilbo what was in his pocket, and it always scared the pants off of me!

The cabin is gone. The lake is probably gone. And my grandfather is gone. But not so long as I remember them.

I smile, as I start to read aloud, hoping my grandfather can hear "Chapter Five: Riddles in The Dark..."

A full day well spent, I think.