MAY THE FORCE…WHATEVER…

So…for a while in London, I lived down the street from Dr. Who’s Magic Telephone Booth. I think there’s an actual name for it, but I don’t know what it is, on account of never seeing the show.

I know. Inexcusable. I just count my lucky stars there were no questions about it on the British citizenship exam.

I don’t have anything against Dr. Who; I struggle with sci-fi franchises in general, and that is basically the fault of Star Wars. Which I also haven’t properly seen.

Now I know what you’re thinking. How can you call yourself a writer? Star Wars is, like, storytelling 101, man!

I get it. It’s just that the situation is out of my control.

Basically, when I was young, quite young, maybe 4 or 5-ish (kindergarten age), there was a snow day. Because I lived within walking distance of the school and had parents who took education very seriously, I was one of the few students to show up. Without enough of the class present to warrant teaching anything useful, the teachers had to figure out what to do with us. Their solution was to gather all the kids from every grade and stick them in the library to watch Star Wars. This was many years ago so I guess it would have been the original film (technically the 4th?).

In any case, it was my first introduction to space adventure and it did not seem the least bit exciting to me. Instead it was dark, weird and scary. I wanted no part of it, got up and tried to leave the library. But the teachers weren’t keen on my plan — after all, this was their snow day too. They sat me back down in front of the large tube television with its suitcase-sized beta player and insisted I be quiet and watch the rest of the movie.

Through the cracks between my fingers, I watched as Princess Leah and Luke Skywalker tried to escape a strange garbage disposal filled with water while some snake-like creature threatened to…I don’t know, drown them or something…and the walls slowly closed in —

Okay. You know the scene. I can’t describe it anymore, I’m getting palpitations just thinking about it. Besides, I have no idea how the scene ended because I closed my eyes and kept them that way until the credits rolled.

After I got older (and those bloody films proved inescapable) I did attempt to watch a few more. But my memory has blocked them out; I honestly can’t recall which ones I saw or what they were about. Something in my brain refuses to process Star Wars. It’s a quality of myself I’ve come to accept and work around.

For instance, the other night when my partner and I went to the movies for date night, he went to Star Wars and I went to…Anything Except Star Wars.

This presented no issues for either of us, and on the perfectly amicable walk home I tried to act interested in the latest epic installment.

“So which one was it?” I asked.

“The seventh.”

Which meant nothing to me. “Was Yoda in it?”

“Yoda’s dead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ages ago.”

“Damn,” I said. “I liked that little guy.”

He went on to describe the intricate plot and dynamics of the various characters but, obviously, I’ve completely blanked the majority of the conversation.

In a further effort to relate science-fictionally, I mentioned I used to live near Dr. Who’s Magic Telephone Booth.

“You mean the TARDIS?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever try to use it?”

“For what?” I asked. “Time travel?”

“Among other things.”

Which is when it occurred to me what a valuable opportunity I had wasted. I made a vow: the next time I’m in the neighborhood, I’m going to go inside that booth, hit the biggest reddest button I can find and say, “Beam me up, Scotty.”

See you in the future, suckers…