A couple of years ago, city hall incorporated quantum bicycles into the public transportation system. Journalists presented them as the most efficient means of transport since the invention of the wheel. Science historians nodded in agreement, and spiritual leaders who preached for more calm in daily life found themselves out of work.
“Wearecommittedtobecomingthemodelcitythatthisnewworldneeds,” the mayor announced. Neither drivers nor pedestrians welcomed this news, but within a matter of weeks, people were only getting around on two wheels.
It’s been the efficiency. The maximum speed reached by the new bicycles humiliated that of cars and doubled that of civil servants during rush hour. At first, the Central Traffic Authority introduced new limits, but the numbers had to be written in scientific notation and the new cyclists didn’t have time to do the mental conversion as they rode past the new engine. They soon realized that in their absence the number of accidents dropped to practically zero. They restored “personaldiscretion” and boasted of having discovered the natural rhythm of human beings through their instinctive vehicle.
Not even the engineers who designed the new bikes anticipated how quickly this anonymous yet unconscious urban dream would be adopted. A new notion of time was established. Little by little, citizens began to shift into high gear in all areas of human life. Interactions lasting more than three minutes were scheduled as formal meetings; cooking became a poetic act; appliances were optimized to synchronize daily life and keep stable the temporal relationship between grocery shopping and coming home from work. Today no one can imagine going back to the old pace, or sweating again going uphill.
Few still use the mechanical model. I’m one of them. We’re part of the “transitioncosts,” as the new presidential candidate calls us. Even though quantum cyclists travel in another temporal dimension, we still share the same lane, and although we can’t manage to see them, we can hear their perfectly articulated insults when their trail of light passes us on the left. For them it’s a terrorist romanticism that costs lives: the couple of accidents recorded in the last year attributed to the “negligentslownessofmechanicalcyclists,” as the Global Health Organization points out.
The latest accident directly involves me. In a couple of hours I appear as the defendant. This morning, on my way to work, the light changed color and I stopped when it was already red. At that very instant, a body shot out past my back, tumbling several meters on the asphalt. He was on a quantum bicycle. He got up bruised and with torn skin and shouted at me howslowhowstupid and that there were still five hours left before it changed to red. He threatened to sue me as soon as possible.
It’s a shame to have to deal with this now that I’d already discovered a way to go unnoticed. I realized that if IpedalfastIsweatandgettired, even though I’m on a mechanical bicycle, people stop yelling at me. But there are things beyond my control and I can’t pedal against time.