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THE JOB PROSPECTS OF HISTORY MAJORS
by Alyssa Eckles
5,200 Words
THERE ARE TWO jobs available to history majors: teaching, and time-travel tourism.
And Winston Clare really didn’t like kids.
The morning tours had gone off without a hitch at All the Time in the World Temporal Travel Company. From his desk beside a cardboard cutout of a jovial T. rex, All the Time in the World’s cartoon mascot, Winston monitored the solo tours with one eye and browsed his worn paperback copy of Herodotus’s Histories. The entire third book on Zoroastrian heritage had fallen out after years of reading, but Winston didn’t have the heart to buy a new copy. Behind his desk, Winston heard a sizzle and electric pop as his manager, Reina, returned with the latest tour group, all of them atwitter at witnessing an important historical event.
“T-shirts are available for purchase in the lobby,” Winston heard Reina shout in her sing-song tour guide voice. “And on behalf of All the Time in the World Temporal Travel Company, have a great eon!”
Winston barely looked up as the tourists shuffled past him, their eyes bright and jaws slack from their experience. He’d been similarly stunned after his first jaunt back in time. It was only a school trip to a Greek agora of 381 BCE, but he had never been so amazed in his entire life. History was literally alive, and it had stolen his heart and soul in that instant. Maybe if there had been a math video game or an immersive law simulator, he would have fallen in love with a more lucrative subject. But it was history that he chose and history that kept his student loans high and his job prospects limited.
“A woman puked during the Renaissance Rendezvous,” Reina said after cheerfully waving the last of her tour group out the door and into the rain.
“Can’t you get it this time?” Winston asked from behind his book. “I’m on solo monitoring.”
Reina leaned over the desk, caramel ponytail whisking across the surface. She pointed at his computer screen, which was, unfortunately for Winston, empty.
“Looks like you’re free,” she said, sliding back to her feet. “Besides, I’m off this afternoon. Corinne and I are visiting her new baby nephew.”
“I’m all by myself?”
“You can handle it,” Reina said.
“But what if people want to come in for a tour?” Winston asked. “I’m only certified for the solos.” Not for lack of trying, though. Tour guides needed specialization in five separate areas of history, and Winston’s mind was a sieve with anything outside ancient Mediterranean escapades. He had decent proficiency in American history and could name a dinosaur or two, but that wasn’t enough to pass All the Time in the World’s guide tests.
“Give them a coupon, and tell them to come back on my next shift,” Reina said, pulling on her raincoat. “All right, I’m off. If no one comes in by four, feel free to lock up early.”
“Thanks,” Winston grumbled as Reina left, disappearing into the downpour outside.
Snapping his book shut, Winston fetched a bucket, mop, and cleaner from the closet and headed back to where the larger tours docked. Nestled in a shallow pool of water sat the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María, though they looked more like pontoon boats than their namesake ships. Short rails, wide benches, and a cushy captain’s station with ridiculous lights and switches in the back were all there were to the devices. It wasn’t until a destination was logged in that a clear sphere appeared around the boats, allowing them to hover above the water. Then a hum of the engines charging, an electric zap, and off another tour went to someplace in the past. It was a marvel to experience, though not everyone enjoyed it. Thus the puddle of partially digested breakfast on the floor of the Santa María.
Winston cleaned it up, holding back his own gags, and wiped down the other two boats for good measure. Then he polished the solo rigs, with their molded chairs in bubbles of steel and glass. And finally, he gave his keyboard a good scrubbing. All the while, no customers arrived.
As the time inched closer to 3:45, and Winston began contemplating what takeout he’d be ordering for an early dinner, a chime rang out from the intercom, and Winston bolted up in his desk chair to see three sodden figures entering the office. The tallest shook itself like a dog, peeling off a poncho to reveal a balding man in plaid and suspenders.
“See, Anne? They’re open,” the man boomed, puddles of rainwater pooling around him.
The second-tallest figure pulled back a hood, and a woman of similar age, sporting horn-rimmed glasses, patted her hair smooth.
“I see that, Harold. I see that.” She was the first to notice Winston and smiled. “Hello! We’re the Mackenzies, and we’d like a tour!”
Winston sighed inwardly, delaying his daydream of tikka masala and sweatpants, and offered an equally wide grin.
“Welcome to All the Time in the World Temporal Travel Company,” he said, waving a hand woodenly at the white-and-chrome room around him. “My name is Winston, and I’ll be assisting you on your time adventure!”
The smallest figure snorted beneath its hood, and Winston fought the urge to glare.
“Well, we’re certainly ready for adventure!” Harold Mackenzie said, clapping a hand on the smallest person’s shoulder. “Came all the way out from Millerston, just for this little lady here.”
The man’s jostling knocked the smaller figure’s hood back, and a plume of curly black hair blossomed. A girl scowled up at him with a derision natural only to preteens.
“I wanted to go to Janus Tours,” she said.
“Those were too expensive, sweetie,” Anne said cooingly.
“They’re expensive because they’re better,” the girl said. “This place is for tourists.”
Winston flinched a bit. The expeditions at Janus Tours were better. They focused on major moments in history, not just the popular ones, and employed professors from the local university for in-depth seminars while events unfolded. He’d applied for a job there and been rejected. Three times. Most recently last Tuesday.
“I’m sure there’s something just as good here, Jayla,” Anne said. She looked to Winston beseechingly. “Right?”
“We have a variety of amazing tours available . . .” Winston said.
“Excellent!” Harold roared.
“But right now, I can only offer solo tours. Today’s guide is out for the afternoon. Also”—Winston eyed the girl—“you have to be fourteen to ride.”
“Our Jayla is twelve, that’s close enough, right?” Anne asked.
Winston frowned. “Well . . .”
“What are these solo tours you’re offering?” Harold was already moving toward the bubbles, bumping the cardboard dinosaur out of his way.
“Currently, our solo tours are Jurassic Journey, Great Wall Getaway, and Declaration of Fun-dependence,” Winston said.
“Those sound neat,” Anne said.
“For babies,” Jayla muttered.
“How do these work?” Harold asked, rapping his knuckles against the glass.
“Our solo tours are up-close, immersive experiences,” Winston said, going full sales mode. He stood beside Harold, motioning at the plush interior of the bubbles. “Enjoy maximum comfort as history unfolds before you, complete with narration and sound.”
“So you don’t get a real person?” Jayla asked.
“No,” Winston said, his jaw beginning to clench, “but Morgan Freeman does narrate the Declaration of Fun-dependence.”