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The post is a few years old, the author talking about a five-minute stretch of time where he was convinced he was trapped in a time loop. He was at a café when he saw a truck with the vanity license plate CHWBCCA drive by a total of six times, followed by the same guy pushing a double stroller with twin toddlers inside. Every five minutes, this seemed to repeat, until he was so spooked, he left the café.
In the comments, people ask the OP for more details, though most of his responses appear to have been deleted, and some comments even report similar experiences.
Then comes more frantic googling. How did I get into a time loop? How do I get out of a time loop?
A time loop. It defies every bit of logic that’s governed my eighteen years on this earth, and yet it’s suddenly the only thing that makes sense. That’s what this is, and now I’m nearly certain of it.
I’ve never been very religious, but I can’t not think about religion when I’m questioning the laws of the universe. My mom and I go to synagogue once or twice a year, and Hanukkah’s always been a competition to see who can find a gift that makes the other person laugh the most. That’s how I wound up with my RINGMASTER OF THE SHITSHOW socks a few years ago and loved them so much I bought a matching pair for my mom. Another reason I’m hoping its mate shows up. I’ve never been spiritual, either—I don’t believe in karma or magical thinking, and I have no clue what happens to us when we die.
But if I lived yesterday twice, while Lucie and Paige and everyone else on the ninth floor seemingly did not, then maybe this is a sign from the universe. Whoever or whatever is out there must have decided my first and second September 21s were so much of a disaster that they merited another try.
I may be an utter mess of a human, but I don’t think I’m a bad person. Not entirely.
If what’s happening is any indication, the universe, apparently, thinks otherwise.
Everything I did two days ago yesterday before—I’ll do the opposite. I’ll keep my mouth shut. I won’t annoy Miles and I won’t rant about tennis and I sure as hell won’t go to that party. I can be a dull and muted version of myself, and then I’ll wake up on September 22 with a job on the Washingtonian and a passion for elementary physics. Lucie and I will tolerate each other. The Zeta Kappas will never have heard of me. If this is some wrinkle in the fabric of reality, maybe all I have to do is iron it out.
At the very least, a tangible mission will help keep me from further unraveling.
I emerge from the stall and approach the long line of sinks. In movies, people are always splashing cool water on their faces when they’re stressed. I have never before done this in real life, but right now, I’m desperate. Sure, maybe it doesn’t instantly right my world, but it doesn’t feel terrible. I do it again, sputtering when I splash water up my nose.
“You okay, sweetie?” The girl at the sink next to me meets my gaze in the mirror. “You have a little something…” She taps the side of her head.
I claw a hand through my hair. Shampoo? Mystery goo that leaked from the ceiling overnight? We may never know. “I’m fine.” I resist asking if she, too, is stuck in time. “Thanks,” I add. Not on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Not questioning my sanity and everything I thought I knew about how the world is supposed to work.
I leave the bathroom without showering, not bothering to bring my caddy with me.
Today my aesthetic is solidly idgaf, since evidently the universe is unbothered by my fashion choices. I put on an old sweatshirt of my mom’s and a pair of threadbare leggings from the back of the flimsy storage tower I hung in the closet, the ones with the tiny hole in the crotch that are only meant for lounging. I don’t even attempt a hairstyle, allowing my curls to be the wild mess they were always destined to be. No point in impressing anyone if they won’t remember it tomorrow.
Mom: How do I love thee? Joss and I are wishing you SO MUCH LUCK today!
Once again, my phone buzzes at eight fifteen for a text sent at seven thirty. My mom’s words only make my heart ache.
I have half a mind to skip physics entirely, but I can’t bring myself to go through with it. Even when school was bad, I never skipped a class.
I just don’t know what my other options are. This feels like something I should be able to share with some trusted confidant, but the only person who fits that description is back in Mercer Island. I don’t want to be the person who can’t handle three two one day of college and needs to run home to her mother. We may be close, but that doesn’t mean I have any idea how she’d react to this. Or whether she’d believe me.
Quark! says the PowerPoint duck. I take the front row again, if only because I’m hoping it acts as some kind of people repellent. All around me, September 21 is proceeding exactly as it did yesterday and the day before. I’m the only variable.
I stare at the slide, willing it to give me some answers. Physics is all about making sense of the universe. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me to get the hell out of this class I never belonged in. Sure, it’s a leap, but I’m no longer safely swaddled in reality. If the problem doesn’t make sense, maybe the solution won’t, either.
“You know,” someone says from behind me, “people who sit in the front row are usually planning to actually take the class.”
I nearly jump out of my seat. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I turn my head, but of course it’s Miles. I didn’t even see him come in.
His words are slow to register, but when they do, they hit me with the force of a truck with a CHWBCCA license plate. If you decide to stay in physics, he said yesterday. He can’t possibly know I’m trying to switch out of this class. If this is some kind of X-Men shit, and I’m stuck in time and Miles can read minds, I’m going to be deeply pissed.
“I’m taking this class,” I say slowly. Carefully. If he remembers…
“Then why is the schedule-changes page up on your laptop?”
Oh. It is. So maybe he’s just as clueless about yesterday as everyone else.
“Fine.” I tilt my laptop away from him. “Yes, I’m thinking of switching out. Physics… just isn’t for me.”
“I see,” he says, and it’s impressive, the amount of condescension he slips into those two words. “Not everyone can handle it, I guess.”
“Oh, I can handle it.” I turn, pinning him with a glare. “I simply choose to expend my energies elsewhere.”
