Time Limit

"I want to go. Why won’t you let me go?" The short man in a dark suit waved his arms around the hallway between the departure area and the administrative offices.

Two employees in white lab coats tried to calm the excited individual. "Please Mr. Ronson, Please, stay calm. We are doing our best. We tried three times."

The Counter-Clockwise, Inc. corporate logo filled the entire area of one wall. Dinosaurs and Victorian English ladies dotted the Aztec and Egyptian pyramid laden landscape. The word’s "Anywhere; Anytime." Ghosted the background.

"I need to see the Manager!" Mr. Ronson was trying to keep his voice down but still show his upset.

"Right down the hallway here to the left." Said the female tech. "Go right in the door. There’s no problem."

Mr. Ronson turned completely around in his dismay. The male tech gently corrected his path and smiled at Mr. Ronson. "No problem at all, sir."

"I’ll be the judge of that." Mr. Ronson said weakly, pulling his clothes together as he walked toward the Manager’s office. "Pay your fees, on time at that, and then nothing, nothing. Looking forward to this all year. Some kind of Time Travel Agency this is. I’ll complain to Management. I’ll complain to the Authorities." As Mr. Ronson walked into the office he was met by a tall casually dress man.

"Mr. Ronson, sir, please come in, please do." The man waved him into the inner office chamber. Behind the lone desk was a glass-encased chamber. Small wooden balls lined the shelves in that glass enclosure.

"Are you the Manager?" Mr. Ronson sat in one of the two chairs in the white-walled room. He sat in front of the desk. It was wooden too.

"Better, I’m the owner of this modest establishment." The man sat down too, but behind the desk. "Call me Fred, if you like. Cup of tea or anything?"

"Don’t try to appease me with tea." Mr. Ronson was trying to remain firm.

"Wouldn’t think of it, sir." Fred took out a pocket computer out of his shirt pocket. "We seem to have a problem, don’t we?"

"Well, uh, yes, uh an. . .a problem." Mr. Ronson was losing his anger. "I have been hearing so much about these time trips back into the past. Everyone’s doing it. They say it’s so Interesting and Fascinating." Mr. Ronson bent forward as he talked.

"Oh, they are. I can personally guarantee. . . "

Mr. Ronson’s anger came back with enough force for him to interrupt. "Then why are you keeping from my trip? I paid in advance like you asked. It can’t be my money. Is it my race? You won’t let someone like me represent our time in the past?" Mr. Ronson’s anger had gotten the best of him.

"We most certainly are not keeping you from your trip." Fred had a shocked look on his face. "and we most certainly do not discriminate on one’s race. We are heavily regulated and the government won’t let us ask what your race is, let alone act on it in a negative fashion. We don’t even know what your race is. I assume that your wife is the same race as you, whatever that is, and she has had a satisfactory experience in the past, has she not?" Fred was looking around the barren room as he made this statement.

"Yes, sorry, I. . . I am just disappointed." Mr. Ronson was calm enough to be embarrassed.

"Well, we understand. How was your wife’s time excursion. . . " Fred looked at his pocket computer again, smiling. "to, um, North Africa, circa two thousand years ago." Fred raised his eyebrows.