We were building an instrument at work with instructions from centuries ago, full of archaic terms and weirdly scripted letters. Our workshop was in the middle of the old Woolworth’s in McCook, Nebraska.
One of the steps called for an inductor with a value in farads (not a capacitor).
Everyone was looking at each other, going, “What’s a farad?” No one could remember because it was such an ancient term that it was rarely used in modern times.
So it was decided that we would send someone back in time to talk to Michael Faraday himself. We contacted Jim Breuer, and he agreed to make the journey. We were able to monitor his activities by looking at a certain page in an old history book. The moving images were in faded black and white.
It would take some time before he located Mr. Faraday, so we set the book aside and started working on the contraption again. Presently, someone commented that we hadn’t heard from Jim in a few hours. It seemed like by now he should have gotten the information and returned to the present time.
As I approached the old text book, I could hear faint, drunken voices raised in song. There, in grainy black and white, were Jim Breuer and Michael Faraday in some ale house, arms slung around each other, singing some old drinking tune at the top of their lungs. Jim was forking the devil horns with one hand.
I turned to my team. “It might be a little longer,” I said.