“Remember when we swapped the bathroom signs and Fred got yelled at by Marge?” Gibson laughs as I finish my taco. “Yeah, that was pretty epic. But karma might still want a say, you know,” I frown, glancing at my watch. “Hey, we’re gonna be late for the standup.”

“Oh, you’re right—let’s go!” Gibson throws some game tokens on the table, then adds, “Actually, Bill… let’s take the _tube_.”

I grimace. “The three tacos I just ate voted unanimously: it’s a ‘no.’ We walk.”

“It’s really quick. Plus, we’ll be late if we hoof it,” he insists. I let out a breath, eyeing our sprawling campus here at Baked Apple Games.

While the taco place is here on campus, it is still a hike back to our team’s space. So, Gibson had a point; this place is massive, and aside from our legs, there’s only one other way to move.

“Fiiiine,” I grumble, instantly regretting that I just overruled my tacos. “It’s just around the corner, Bill,” he explains as he leads me toward the silver sleeping giant: the Holdon Tube Drop, a.k.a. the “Holdon.

Imagine if you will a giant bank tube that sends humans rocketing across campus for pure, twisted entertainment purposes… and transport, where the latter is really an afterthought. But I glance at my watch and realize there’s no time to argue. Gibson laughs as we approach. “Never thought I’d convince ya, Bill.” I roll my eyes, masking my nerves. “Let’s just do this thing.”

We step inside and scan our badges at the entry panel, causing the inner door to seal with a soft hiss. Gibson then punches in our destination. “Two minutes, tops,” he informs, then frowns, squinting at the controls. “Weird… that’s interesting!”

“What? Is it busted?” I ask, a flicker of hope in my voice that fate has come to its senses.

He shakes his head. “Nah, probably nothing. Just looked odd… never mind.” Et tu, fate, I think, picturing my fist in the air.

The tube jolts into motion, accelerating straight up, then rockets forward, up, down, left, and right in a rapid, stomach-churning sequence. It feels like a kid with a remote control is entering the classic Konami code on the keypad (up, up, down, down, left right, left right…), and my tacos are not happy.

“Ya see why they call it the ‘Hold…on,’” Gibson laughs, as I grip the handrail with ghost-white knuckles. I shoot him a death glare at max power!

Finally, we slow down as the pod comes to a halt. The doors slide open, and Gibson steps out—followed by remnants of my lunch. He quickly hits a cleanup button on the wall, then helps me out of the pod.

_Bill’s nuggets of wisdom #107: Never trust a transportation system with a dedicated cleanup crew call button._

“Hmm, I wonder where we are?” Gibson asks, looking around.

“You don’t know where we _are_?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my voice like slime from a dungeon creatuse. You ever have one of those moments where words fail, and all that’s left is simmering unbridled rage? Here’s what it might look like:

_T-minus 10… 9… 8… choice words loaded! 7… profanity unlocked! 6… fists clenched! 5… abort! Abort! 4… gonna hurl again! 3… 2… must… not… _

_Failure to launch! _Gibson presses the cleanup button—again—and helps me up, _again_.

I take a breath, steadying myself, and look around. We’re in a stark white, empty 10x10 room with no indication of where we are. It’s smells like a Baked Apple Games prank, and I’m betting Fred is out there gloating, waiting to see how long we last. I sink to the floor in resignation, adding to my mental log:

_Nugget #108—When the story title says you should have done something, you probably should have done what it says._

In other words, we should have walked!