Okay, I’ll admit that maybe prank calling all the welders around Melbourne was a bad idea. It was a stupid dare that I shouldn’t have gone along with, but I knew Rachael would make fun of me if I chickened out. When I agreed to the dare, she shoved a copy of the phonebook in my lap and told me to start dialling. Of course, being hopelessly in love with her as I am, I did as she suggested, hoping to impress her. For the rest of the night, I called up dozens of marine welders and said, “The seventies called, they want their marine fabrication back.” I then hung up, while Rachael and I burst into a fit of laughter. It was a fun night until I called the wrong number. One digit out of place and the entire night was literally gone.
“Hello, is your marine welder running?” I asked, stifling giggles.
“No, it’s not,” said a deep voice on the other end. “Who is this, anyway? Who dares try to prank the Expert Phone Prankster? Guess what… the eighties called, and they want their jokes back!”
Suddenly, Rachael and I were pulled through some sort of time vortex, our bodies painfully stretched for eternity, until eventually, we landed at the local waterfront. I rubbed my head and stood, making sure Rachael was fine, too. Looking around, I spotted a welding shop, although it wasn’t one I recognised from the phonebook.
Totally tubular boat snapper racks around Melbourne, read a sign out the front. A sinking feeling formed in my stomach. “Totally tubular?” I whispered, looking around frantically. All around me, I spotted hallmark signs of a time before my own. “Rachael, I think we’re actually in the eighties.”
As it turns out, though, I was completely wrong about that. I’d totally forgotten that our town was having an eighties-themed carnival that weekend. So I guess the Expert Phone Prankster just teleported us a few days in the future? Weird. Still, I’m disappointed that our fun night was literally taken away from us.