Whilst traveling between two dimensions, vinyl siding salesman Bob Sloth noticed a loose thread in the fabric of space-time and, without even remotely considering the implications of his actions, idly began pulling on it. It happens to the best of us: one moment you’re just trying to get from point A to point B and the next you’re trapped in a state of inter-dimensional liminality with no one to blame but yourself.

In his defense Bob had been going through a recent rough patch—he’d come in below quota on his sales figures from the previous month and his boss Phil Hesher wasn’t too pleased. Then there was the dismal economic state of his town Largesse. Ever since construction of the inter-dimensional bypass, Largesse has been in a slump of epic proportions. Finally, his one-man show ‘My Life Feels Like a One-Man Show’ was flailing at the box office due to his understudy Bob the Sloth’s bombed performance.

Now here in this nowhere place in nowhere time Bob contemplates the vast wasteland of his life up until this point. It has always seemed to him to be one long sequence of continuity errors—some committed with great intention, others on a whim, but none, so far as he could tell, had been accidental. No, he alone was to blame for each and every one of these disruptions in the status quo, these deviations from the norm, from the general forward movement in the name of progress. ‘Two steps forward, three steps back’ has always been his unofficial motto (as assigned by astute observers and unbeknownst to himself, that is). On the contrary, his official motto, that is the one he assigned to himself, has always been ‘To what end, Bob, to what end’, with the second repetition enunciated at a slower, measured cadence in his head, eventually dropping off to the point of an almost-whisper, though still coming to a firm, audible full stop after the second ‘end’.

There could not be more appropriate circumstances for this contemplation. It is as if his life has been paused and he is hovering in a void, neither losing nor gaining momentum. A chance to catch up has been granted, perhaps—to take stock, as they say. Thoughts of how to escape, to transcend this space between dimensions, have not even begun to coalesce. Will they ever or will Bob remain entombed in his interstitial hidey-hole indefintely (forever?). Only time will tell…or will it, seeing as it has no bearing on events transpiring in Bob’s current locale….

Bob Sloth (not to be confused with Bob the Sloth, who lived in a tree down the street) woke up this morning on the wrong side of the bed. For Bob, the wrong side of the bed was not a metaphorical place. It was a very real place, and he had been waking up there with increasing frequency, to the point where he now felt his existence cleaving into two halves. Bob felt unsettled, though not quite horrified, by this development in his usually simple life.

To earn a living Bob sold vinyl siding, an act for which he despised himself. He didn’t have much choice in employment, though, given that the vinyl siding company (Cheap Siding, Inc.) was the only business still operating in his native town of Largesse (not to be confused with the town of Largest, located a few miles down the road, which despite its name enjoyed a modest but growing tourist economy based around its stature as the smallest town in the country).

Due to the bleak economic conditions in their town, most Largessians commuted to Largest, where they did shift work as actors in a continuously running historical reenactment of the region’s settlement in the 1820s. The majority of the Largessians played roles as settlers of Largesse, for as actual citizens of that town they had keen insights into Largessian language and mannerisms. In fact, tourists often commented that the Largessian actors were the most authentic ones in the show. One would think that this might inspire the Largessians to take pride in their work, but it actually caused them to resent the citizens of Largest even more for profiting from Largessian history, for stealing the Largessians’ ancestral stories from them and then paying them low wages to act those stories out in front of gawking strangers.

[Thank you for your patience during this digression. However, the long-running feud between the citizenry of Largesse and Largest, while certainly interesting in its own right, is not the focus of this story, so let’s return with haste to Bob Sloth and his ongoing troubles.]

When Bob wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, he is almost always late to work, and when that happens his supervisor docks five percent of Bob’s sales commission for that day. Given the narrow margin between Bob’s earnings and his cost of living, this loss of wages can translate to the difference between eating three small meals per day and eating one large meal per day, for at least a week.

Today when Bob was driving hastily down the street on his way to work, his coffee sloshing all over the vinyl-covered dashboard of his truck, he was forced to a screeching halt when he encountered Bob the Sloth lying in the middle of the street. Bob immediately jumped out of the cab and rushed to Bob’s side.

Bob, Bob, are you okay, he whispered.

Bob the Sloth slowly raised his head and looked around. Hnnhhh, he said.

What’s that, Bob? I don’t speak sloth. Could you please repeat that in English? Bob asked, glancing at his watch and calculating in his head the chances of still getting to work on time.

With great effort, Bob the Sloth rose to a sitting position and scratched his head.

Sorry, Bob, he muttered, guess I fell asleep there in the middle of the road.

No problem, Bob S. said. I’m just glad you’re okay.

Bob Sloth rushed back to his truck and drove at top speed (42 mph/68 kmh) the rest of the way to work, barely making it to Cheap Siding, Inc. by 9 AM.

Bob’s boss Phil Hesher narrowed his eyes over his coffee mug as Bob lurched through the front door, breathing hard, his white dress shirt speckled with coffee stains.

Wake up on the wrong side of the bed again, Bob?

Bob’s eyes bugged out of his head and dangled in the air by their stalks.

How did you know, he gasped.

Phil just laughed and handed him his sales route for the day.

(This story is now over. Thank you for reading.)