Time Corps 10

I'm now a little more confident, following my Irish and Reserve tours. Circumstances also force me to wander alone, that is Betty Lou finds a sort-of romance.
Same rules, we can be off-base only daylight weekend. For the very first time, I try going to the coffee house alone.
For the very first time, I go to what is reputed to be the most famous newstand in the entire region, only one with a good selection of imports.
To my delight I discover Le Monde still exists. It's about 3/4 the page size, but same page count. A quick perusal of the 4 stories they start on the front page shows writing quality is still there. It's the secret to their success, their survival, deliver newsmagazine writing in a newspaper at a newspaper price.
There are 6 issues to choose from, Sunday/Monday combined. I look a the list of stories on each, opt for the day where the three-page-feature is the ongoing constitutional wrangling in the European Union. Should be interesting, see if they've made much progress in 10,000 years.
I never like American comics, such thin little things at a ridiculous price. I think the French and Japanese do the comic genre best.
I select a French comic of book thickness. Donald Duck still exists, in this issue he's off on sci fi adventures. Should be fun.
I choose a manga comic, Japanese art, captions translated into French.
A middle-aged female cashier, who must weigh 300 pounds, simply takes the manga comic, puts it under her counter, "you cadets are so cheeky these days. Didn't you see the label, age 21? You want that stuff, you come back in 10 years or so."
My first thought is to whip out ID. I realize I can't. Time Corps ID has no date of birth. Even if I still had Canadian ID on me (it's not, it's in the vault), it proves nothing. Shows the year I was born, but not what year I disappeared into the time warp.
Also our training endlessly drills into us the paramount importance of blending in, being invisible, not causing a scene.
Feeling like the truly powerless of the Earth, I pay for Le Monde and the Donald Duck comic.
I decide to console myself by trying a new coffee house.
The counterman, in as condescending a tone as you'll hear, "don't they teach you little baby cadets how to read? See the sign? Smoking coffee house, age 18 and up. Now go home and work on your homework."

With a feeling of utter defeat, I head to the only coffee house where I'm known, where we Time Corps girls blend into the woodwork.
After today's experience, it truly is a welcome sight, the cheerful face of the counterwoman asking, "usual Indira?"
She pours vanilla hazelnut. As I add cream and sugar, she says, "look a bit down, bad day?"
"Let's just say I'm less than thrilled with shopping."
Sympathetically, "aren't we all dear? Help is so rude. Never find what you want. Move it all about every couple months just to be difficult. Acres of stuff but never have your size or color."
I laugh, "sounds exactly like circa 2000 Canada, some things never change."

Several minutes later Nilofar arrives. In real life, she's a Sgt in the pay admin. I wave to her as she buys.
As she sits, "you feeling ok, Indira?"
I relate my experience.
As I'm done, she starts uneasily, "first, I'm not criticizing history TV. Useful function, goes a long way to keeping it a peaceful world, so ultimately save a lotta lives. Comes with a cost."
"Yeah, seen our budget figures."
"I don't mean monetary cost, I mean human. Look back over time, whaddya see? Lotta one-tour people. A real celebrity, maybe three-four tours, then vanishes."
"Same everywhere," I assert, "TV news anchors come and go. Perceived as boring, end up being a copy editor."
"I'm not talking putting bores out to pasture, but people dead. Either direct suicide, or indirect with alcohol/drug abuse."
"Why?"
"You yourself found out today. On screen a heroine, a star, respectfully interviewed by famous history profs. Off screen, just another kid not allowed to buy porn."
"Not porn, art, no photos, just drawings."
"Censorship Board sees it a little different. So talk about contradiction, from heroine to child. Throw in another, you're somewhere 10 years, get attached to it. Gotta come back, dissect it all dispassionately. Next tour, same all over, somewhere else."
"Yeah, maybe I made a mistake accepting their offer."
"Indira, that's for everyone else, not you. You're different, got the ability to feel very little, your autism variant. You'll end up a mega-star, probably 20 tours and retire to being a history prof."
"You think so?
"Be honest. Were you really angry at the newstand and coffee house or just resigned?"
"Ah yeah, get your point."