"

          Anna looks at her car’s clock with a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach. The
vehicles in front of her move at a snail’s pace and the stop lights seem to be rigged against her.
In the back seat, her youngest daughter, Dorothy, is unable to sit still in her car seat and thrashes
around while singing the wrong words to a song on the radio in the wrong key. Her wailing
dampens Anna’s focus and creates tension in her temples. The light turns red right before the car
in front of her reaches the line. If this other person had not been there, she would have run the

light. She looks at the clock again. Seven fifty. She only has ten minutes to drop Dorothy off at
daycare and get to her job interview three blocks away. She takes a deep breath and rubs her
forehead to alleviate the pain. The song on the radio ends and so does Dorothy’s singing. This is
a plus. In the song’s place, an advertisement comes on with the voice of an all too cheery
salesman.

          “Tired of waiting endlessly for the arrival of public transportation?” he asks with
unnecessarily volume. “Tired of walking to work or getting caught in traffic? Well, I have a
solution for you: Terry’s Teleportation Services. Introducing the next step in innovation and
technology, we’re here to get you where you need to go not just faster, but instantly. Think about
all the time you’ve been wasting on your morning commutes. Now you can hop into one of our
boxes and click a button to be transported to another one of our machines anywhere in the world!
Traveling has never been easier. And our machine will fit great in your home; it’s no bigger than
your fridge! So, try out our new teleporter and get to your places instantly. But wait there’s
more—”

           Anna flicks the radio off. She is not interested in an ad that so accurately describes her
situation without offering a feasible solution.
         “Why’d you turn it off, Mommy?” Dorothy asks.
         “Mommy’s just wants a little peace and quiet right now, Sugar,” Anna says.
          Ignoring her request for silence, Dorothy asks, “Will we ever get a teleporter? All the
other kids at daycare have one in their homes.”
         “I don’t know, Sugar,” Anna says with a sigh.“
          If Daddy was still here, he could help us afford it.”
          Anna’s heart twinges. Her four-year-old daughter should not have to worry about things
like this. “I know, Sweetie.” She cannot think of anything more comforting to add, but luckily,

they pull into the daycare lot at this exact moment, preventing her from having to make up a lie
to cover up their financial situation.
         “Will the house still be dark when I come home?” she asks as she unbuckles her seatbelt.“
          "I’m working on it,” Anna says through a forced smile as she turns around to hand her
daughter her lunch box. “I love you. Have a great, big, beautiful day.”
          “I love you too, Mommy,” Dorothy says as one of the daycare workers opens the car door
for her.

           Anna looks back at the clock as she pulls away. It is now seven fifty-three. Her interview
starts in seven minutes. She can feel all hopes of arriving early slipping away. She desperately

wants this job. For one, its proximity to Dorothy’s daycare makes it highly convenient for her
morning commutes. Also, the chance to sell teleporters would give her a better understanding of
the different options in case she ever did get a chance to purchase one. Maybe an employee
discount or the extra money from commissions could help provide this opportunity.

          The time is exactly eight o’clock when she pulls into the office building’s parking lot and
eight o-two by the time she has finished parking and steps off the elevator onto the fourth floor.
Her desired employer’s office is second to the right. She steps inside and is greeted by a
receptionist. Her eye makeup is extravagant and compliments her diamond earrings nicely. The
waiting room is freshly cleaned with a row of black leather seats in the corner. A picture of the
first teleporter-a humongous dome with at least a hundred miscellaneous wires-hangs above the
chairs with the caption “progress” etched in the frame.

          “I’m here for my interview with Walter Hutchins,” Anna tells the receptionist.
          A man rises from one of the seats. In her rushed entrance Anna had failed to even notice
him. “You must be Anna Marries.” He extends his hand. “I’m Walter Hutchins. It’s a pleasure to
meet you.”
         

          Anna shakes his hand. His grip is strong, but not as strong as the buttons on his black suit
which appear strained from pulling in his gut. Anna knows she is not one to talk, however; her
diet of ramen and frozen pizzas hasn’t exactly done wonders for her physique.
          “It’s nice to meet you as well,” she says with a smile.
          “Follow me this way and we’ll get started,” Walter says as he gestures her towards a door
leading to cubicles and conference rooms.
           But if he is being honest with himself, Walter knows that no matter how this interview
goes, he will surely hire someone else for the position anyways. Anna was late and he needs
someone he can rely on to be on time. He needs someone whose punctuality will not be affected
by trivial things like traffic. He needs someone that can be there instantly.
​​

Justin Sangermano

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Teleportation: The Art of Instantaneous Travel