The Bassist That Traveled Through Time

Part 4

Inside the room we've just entered, there's a box-like machine made of metal, about the size of an amp. He shows me where to type in the date, and such, but ends up doing it all for me anyway. "Bye, guys." I say, and the next thing I know there's a flash of light, no vortex or anything like that, but I feel like I've been reborn. I look around me. I am in L.A. in the year 1983. It's March 12th, and I decide the first thing I'm going to do is find a place to stay. So tired...maybe...I'll just...sleep...*drop*...

I wake up cold, on a bench with a newspaper spread over me like a blanket and a hobo staring at me. I scream. "Cocaine is real bad for ya," he says suddenly, and I laugh. "Yeah, I uh...I just hadn't eaten in a while...I'm not a druggie, I promise." There's no way I'm going to tell him I've been time-traveling. "I..." I look around me. It's morning, like 7:00. Oh my god. I have to get a hotel. Luckily, my stuff is intact. "I have to get going." He looks at me as I walk by and shakes his head muttering, "Them addicts are always in a state of denial. Tsk Tsk."

I check in to the hotel and then I realize I probably have only modern money, but I decide to try and see what happens. I wait behind a frizzy-haired blonde woman who won't shut up and keeps arguing with the receptionist. Finally she leaves, and brushes uncomfortably against my shoulder. "Hi, I'd like to book a room. Non-smoking, please, and it's just me. Uh, I'll have to pay in cash." "Your name, please?" His voice is boring but creepy at the same time, kind of like a purring cat. "Atalanta Grant." "Are you Greek?" he asks somewhat rudely. Actually, my father is, but I barely know that creep anyway, so I just lie. "No, but my mom is really into mythology." "Oh." He looks at me distastefully. I don't really look Greek, though. I take after my mother, so I can totally pull of the whole boring American white girl thing. Unless it's summer. Then I tan really dark. That's about it. I get out my money and wince but he doesn't even check it. Either I'm really lucky or he is a really bad employee. Maybe both. After all, he was arguing with that blonde lady. Maybe she had an actual reason to be mad. Who knows. "Room 114 is open and the bellhop can take your luggage." he says. "OK, thank you." I say, and politely smile while following the bellboy-hop-whatever up a set of red velvet stairs to my room. "Thank you." I say as he sets my things down, but he doesn't even acknowledge me and walks away. I decide to take just a little eensy nap, but when I wake up, it's 5:00 p.m. I decide to go down to the snack bar or something. I don't want to stay in my hotel room forever. I gather a few quarters and walk down the stairs. Upon opening the door of the little room, I hear a familiar laugh. Where have I heard that laugh...and then it hits me. Lars is here! Which means I don't have to go looking for Metallica myself, because they're already here. C'mon, Atalanta, just waltz right in there and say you need a job. I'll be your roadie, here I come! Atalanta, don't be shy! Be a...a..a go-getter! I sigh and slowly open the door. Here goes nothing...er, definitely something.