I was surprised recently when I read somewhere on facebook that someone had met someone that heard of someone that ran an ultra marathon with something called an “Ultráman” (pronounced Ul – TRAH – meñ). As a sober, no-nonsense reporter with his head in the right place I naturally thought to myself, “How rad is that?”
I naturally decided to use my nearly one semester of well-paid for (and nearly paid off!👍🏼), acutely honed reporting skills to leap onto the trail of the specter spoken of only in the hushed tones of 1 Facebook post. Maybe. Many would have argued that such a source is hardly reliable enough to move anyone to put everything he has to the side (marital plans, making a good impression the first week on the job, quitting smoking, and an immensely difficult three-hundred piece Pinnochio puzzle, in my case) and chase shadows.
But I am not many. I have been born to run Mankind’s most foolish errands. Like delivering pizza to Bigfoot. That was me.
In short, I gathered what supplies I could muster and headed out to find the someone that had met the someone that had heard of someone that ran with the Ultráman. Two hours later I was back at my place after discovering how difficult a search for someone on Facebook can be without a laptop. But, having finally collected my key to unlocking this great mystery, and my resolve being thereby more stolen than ever before, I set out again. O..only to return six hours later because under “supplies” I had somehow NOT filed away any food.
The next morning I raced out to meet my fate. I remember feeling a tingling that extended from my elbow down to my hand; at least, after I whacked my funny bone on the door knob when I left. I made my way to a nearby café that received the internet, ordered an empty cup, and began my search. After almost an hour I realized that which less experienced individuals than myself might have only figured out after hours and hours: the fruitless tapping and clicking on my keyboard was due to the malfunction i.e. total absence of a charging cable. I thanked the heavens above for my dozens of minutes of reporter training that helped extrapulate me as seemlessly from this dreadful imbroglio as possible, and took my leave.
The next morning I sat at the foot of my bed, where I could see the mirror on my dresser, and looked resolute. Three days of hopeless, wasted searching were not going to daunt me! Or undaunt me. Whichever of the two was positive. Or negative.
That day, I caught a break. While walking to my favorite café that received internet webs, I stumbled over, athletically, I’ll be it, a large paper bag brimming with empties. I could afford a tea!
In the café I made sure everyone noticed my tea. It was a great and triumphant moment for me. However, sitting down with it and opening my laptop, I had to face the facts that in over three days of heartbreaking, futile searching I had absolutely nothing to show. The mysterious fantom known only as “Ultráman” was just as easy to locate as my wallet with all of my credit cards in it.
I was going to have ask a friend of mine for a favor. You know, like in those crime movies where the desperate cops try one last ploy to solve the case, and the friend’s information ends up “breaking the case wide open”?
Well, since I technically had no friends there was no one I could ask to “break the case wide open” except myself, so I did. Unfortunately, “American Idol” was on too loud and I couldn’t hear what I was saying. I decided to take my defeat in stride and head off for another night’s well-earned rest. Tomorrow would be another day, where the strange mythical creature would most definitely hear my footprints. Ultráman, I’m on your trail!