Two recent events have convinced me that I can see into the future.
But just two seconds.
I was cycling home from Granbury, making the long loop around Fort Worth on the Loop 820 access road. Many vehicles passed me on the highway, but one caught my attention. A man was standing up in the bed of the truck holding the roof of the cab with one arm, and holding dozens of long, thin trim boards with the other. Despite the obvious poor planning on their part, they had made it this far, so it stands to reason that they should have continued on this way and made it to their project without incident.
Then my future-sight kicked in: I pictured the wind suddenly catching the boards, fanning them out and throwing the guy backwards, sending long pieces of trim catapulting end over end, eventually shattering into splinters on the windshields of other cars, and the man struggling not to fall out of the pickup.
And that’s exactly what happened. It happened so quickly after visualizing it, it was almost as if I had caused it to happen. When cloud of wood splinters and board fragments settled, I could see the man hunched over the tailgate. By the time I caught up on my bike, both he and the driver were standing next to their truck, looking at the remains of their project materials with shamed, defeated expressions, not even talking to each other.
So I decided at that moment that I might be a fortune teller, even if I could only see two seconds into the future. It’s not useful for sports betting or predicting the stock market, but it might one day help me dodge a fly ball at a baseball game.
There is a visiting scientist at my work for an extended project, a tiny Asian guy named Dong. Real name, you can’t make this kind of stuff up. He’s still figuring out the ins and outs of how this place works, so I wasn’t entirely surprised that he’d made a little mess on the floor in the breakroom while he changed out the empty Ozarka water bottle. He had set the Wet Floor sign out and I could see that he had mopped up his mess with a few napkins. It’s not rocket science, but everything has a learning curve and those jugs are a little harder to lift if you’re under 5 feet tall.
As I entered, he was kneeling next to the rack of unopened water bottles, stacked in rows three-high along the wall. Then my future-sight kicked in again: I pictured him peeling the lid and popping the top off one of the bottles, then comically panicking while water flooded the breakroom.
And that’s exactly what happened. He couldn’t tip it up because it was in one of the lower rows on the rack (obviously chosen based on his tiny stature), and now he couldn’t pull it out because it was shooting out gallons of water at him. He splashed at the water with his hands, briefly looked at me and said “Help me!” in a thick accent, and then went back to wiggling the jug while its contents poured all over him and the floor.
I was going to help him. But I couldn’t because I was super busy, crying laughing and trying really hard not to wet myself.
Dong learned an important lesson about gravity today. (I bet that’s a sentence you didn’t foresee reading today.)