I’ve been introduced to the next big technological innovation: cars that shrink or expand in a matter of seconds.
For reasons that I cannot remember, I’m the new custodian of one of these vehicles.
In its current state, it looks like nothing more than a large radio-controlled car, roughly the size of a shoebox.
When I press a button on the top, a series of intricate mechanisms inside the car whirr into action. Immediately, the panels of the vehicle pop out and reconfigure in the pleasingly springy manner of an Autobot.
In seconds, the car expands into a full-size automobile, identical in every way to the original car but many times larger.
Then I press the button on top again and it collapses down into the little replica, occupying a fraction of its original footprint.
I stare at the new car, amazed at this simple yet revolutionary invention.
My first thought: this is going to make street parking so much easier.
Second dream: sailboat regret
My wife and daughter are sailing away for some urgent reason, in the care of a trusted friend.
My easy heroism quickly sours into regret and panic
In the devil-may-care manner of Jack Colton, I tell my wife that I will follow shortly after, in my own personal vessel. First, I have to attend to some business.
My insistence on this set of circumstances feels courageous and noble. The three of them sail away from me, into the night. Moonlight glitters on the distant waves.
Later, I find myself at a black-tie soiree (also being held at sea). It’s the kind of event attended only by celebrities, rich people and secret agents.
As I plan my next move, it dawns on me just how little I know of seafaring. I don’t actually know how to catch up with family and my friend. I realise that I don’t even have the MMSI number of their vessel.
My easy heroism quickly sours into regret and panic. The ocean is an incredibly dangerous place. Left to my own devices I’m likely to get myself killed.
I look at my sailboat. It’s an expandable model, just like the pop-up car I encountered recently. Right now, the vessel is small enough to float across a pond.
It can be made larger, but nevertheless I’ll be alone inside it, an incompetent sailor facing heaven knows what conditions.
I can barely spot a constellation, let alone navigate by the stars. This is where my arrogance has led me.
I can’t even recall the ’important business’ that triggered my swashbuckling insistence that I stay behind.
