Next in the fiction series, I present to you: THE MANDELA EFFECT.
My bad day was hot. Sweltering hot. My decrepit wall A/C unit chugged and strained at full blast, still only barely compensating for the humidity of a southern Ohio summer.
Zoom call number five. Kill me now, I thought.
“Where we are on the Vimerity numbers, Kash?” Larry asked. My mind was wandering through Tekken combos when I heard my name, forcing me to scramble. Zoom calls are like daydreaming in elementary school all over again.
“Um, lemme see,” I said, with a strategically timed cough, desperately buying time as I refocused. “112 billable hours for Sarah, and I’ve got 97.5 for Ibrahim.” I really don’t get how the partners want me running point for the Vimerity IP case on top of editing the briefs of that dumbass first-year. And on top of the neverending Zoom calls that could’ve been handled in emails.
It serves them right that I’ve been skimming from accounts receivable and fudging numbers. I needed the raise. I thought about the BMW X5 I was going to replace my old Camry with and smiled.
I had been close to getting caught last month, but was able to convince Sarah that she was the one who’d gotten her numbers wrong. She had been so sure, but in the end, I got her doubting her own eyes. I got her apologizing.
“Good,” Larry Shapiro said. “Sarah the plowhorse. Put something together so we can send an updated invoice.”
The partners loved Sarah. She’d be alright.
“I thought Brian was the plowhorse?” Angeline asked.
“No, it’s always been Sarah,” another partner said. It makes me uncomfortable when the partners gossip like this in front of us paralegals.
“She’s never out before 9,” Larry gushed.
“I could’ve sworn it was Brian,” Angeline muttered. I reached for the Stanley cup Amirah had given me. Empty. Goddamnit.
“You’re misremembering,” someone said. “Like the Shaq genie movie.”
“Kazaam,” Angeline said.
“My son still swears that was a thing,” Larry said. His son was, wait for it, on the partner fast track at the firm. Purely out of talent and hard work, naturally.
“Same,” said Jessica, the other para on the call. “I know I saw it as a kid.”
“Yeah, because it was real,” I added. “It’s the Sinbad one we misremember.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Larry. He was the only one in the office, and rarely missed an opportunity to complain about us working from home.
“You know, the Sinbad genie movie that’s real,” Angeline said. “Shazam.”
“Maybe that’s what confuses everyone,” Jessica added.
What? I thought.
“Anyway, Kash, you’ll need to set up a call with Ibrahim and the plowhorse to get them synced,” Larry said. “Jess, tell me the hours for Falkenkirk v. Boyers.”
Were they all having a stroke? I started furiously typing on my phone “Sinbad genie movie.”
It immediately popped up. A movie poster for “Shazam,” most definitely with Sinbad. Probably fake or AI-generated, I thought. Right?
I scrolled. It had an IMDb entry.
Shazam (1997) 2.7/10
Shazam: Directed by Chris Columbus. With Sinbad, Kim Delaney, Ally Walker. Two brothers are stunned when they accidentally release…
I looked up. Larry was droning on as he did.
The next Google entry was an article. “Shaq the genie – the fake movie we misremember, explained.” I hit that.
“Last week, a viral Reddit post provoked a storm of people reminiscing about Shaq starring as a genie in the movie ‘Kazaam.’ There’s just one problem: the movie never existed.
“Millennials one-upped each other online in swearing they watched the movie as kids. Dr. Beverly Santos, a psychiatrist with Mt. Sinai in New York, said such shared false memories are common, immortalized in the phrase ‘Mandela Effect’ about the erroneous belief that former South African President Nelson Mandela died in prison.
“‘Interestingly, it is not from confusion with ‘Shazam,’ Dr. Santos said, referring to the real genie movie starring Sinbad. ‘Millennials feel they were twin movies, like ‘Antz’ and ‘A Bug’s Life.’ It speaks to the plasticity of human memory.’”
What the fuck? I’d been misremembering it this whole time?
But I saw the fucking movie, I thought. I remember the poster perfectly. Shaq with his arms crossed and laughing.
As soon as the Zoom call finally ended, I started searching for real.
Endless Reddit threads debating the same thing. They all had someone declaring ‘Kazaam’ a fake memory, followed by increasingly deranged replies swearing they had seen it, that it was an implanted memory from vaccines, that we had shifted dimensions.
I was starting to sympathize with the crazies.
Every article about the Mandela Effect used the same examples: the Monopoly Man never wore a monocle; Pikachu’s tail didn’t have a black stripe; Berenstain Bears was the correct spelling, not Berenstein; and the ‘90s genie movie starred Sinbad, not Shaq.
I stood up. Fucking weird. I had been so sure. Look, who starred in a shitty old ‘90s movie is probably not the most pressing matter in life, but this was unreal.
Who starred in the genie movie from when we were kids? I texted Amirah.
Sinbad, silly, she texted back. She knew where I was going with this. She probably thought I was trying to trick her.
I had a half hour until my next Zoom, so I decided to go to the store. My car was a literal sauna. I rolled down the windows, praying for the clunker’s A/C to start working soon. But at least the Speedway station was nice and cool.
I started walking to the back. A cardboard Joe Burrow held a bottle of BodyArmor drink. “Hydration for the Queen City!” the caption said. The station was selling hot dogs, Cityline chili, and some mutant form of pizza.
Wait, I thought, halting in my tracks. What in the everloving fuck?
“Cityline chili.” My heart was racing; I felt myself starting to spiral. The gas station was fucking with me intentionally. It’s Skyline chili! This town is famous for Skyline chili!
“What the hell is ‘Cityline chili’?” I asked the clerk. I realized too late it came out more as a yell.
He looked at me in alarm. “I… uh, buddy, what’s wrong with you. You new to Cincinnati or something?” he called out.
“It’s ‘Skyline chili’!” I yelled. What the fuck?!
“Get a load of this lunatic! Go back to Cleveland!”
Two other customers in the store were now just staring at me. I knew it’d be seconds before someone would start recording me.
I ran back to my car. Pounded on the steering wheel. Fucking fucks just fucking with their customers for no reason.
I got out my phone. Opened the browser. Stopped, fearfully. I was afraid of what it’d say.
Gotta prove these sick fucks are just fucking with people. Searched “Skyline chili.”
“Did you mean: Cityline chili” the browser asked.
The first result was for the Cityline Chili restaurant chain.
The image search showed the familiar chili smothered in shredded cheddar cheese. That’s fucking Skyline chili, I’ve lived here my whole life!
I started clicking through all of them. Recipes for Cityline chili. Cityline Chili, the official chili sponsor of the Cincinnati Reds.
What’s the famous chili from this town called? I texted Amirah.
What’s gotten into you? she texted.
Just tell me
Cityline chili, we had it last week, you ok?
I threw my phone into the passenger seat. “What the fuck!” I yelled. I peeled out.
I was trying to put myself together before the next Zoom. I’m not going crazy. I know what I saw. I know what I fucking know.
I joined the call with my video off. I didn’t trust my facial expressions. Sarah was there with some of the other senior associates; Larry was going to give them his usual pep talk about logging their hours. Not much for me to say, thank God.
We were joined by Harry.
“Hey everyone. Thanks for coming by,” Larry said. Except his name read “Harry Shapiro.”
I stifled a scream by putting my fist in my mouth.
“I know we’re all busy, but I just wanted to touch base. Get a read on the room.”
“Mr. Shapiro–” Sarah began.
“Sarah, please. I’ve told you, it’s Harry.”
“It’s Larry!” I nearly shrieked.
Everyone paused. “What?” was all Larry could say.
“Sir, Larry, why are you calling yourself Harry?!”
He was just looking at the camera in grave concern. “Kash, are you ok?” Sarah asked.
“We just had another Zoom less than an hour ago!! Why are you calling yourself Harry?!”
“Kash,” he began slowly, “I’m thinking it’s time to take some time off starting immediately. I want you to log off this call, put yourself together, and then come in tomorrow to speak with Kathy in HR.”
“Larry!”
He just shook his head and moved his mouse.
I was kicked from the call.
I’ve worked there for five years. Larry Shapiro founded the goddamn firm. What the fuck?
Why is everyone fucking with me?!
I drove around randomly, mind scrambled. Probably losing my job over everyone fucking with me! What the fuck!
Finally arrived at Queen City BMW. I’d visited weekly. It was my calming spot. I just sat in my car, panting, head down.
After a while, a knock on the window. Sammy. He was always courteous when I visited to look at the X5, even though he obviously thought I was wasting his time.
I lowered the window. “Hey big fella,” he said.
“Tell me your name! Tell me your name!!”
“Woah, what’s gotten into you? It’s Sammy. Sammy Torrence.” His ID badge matched.
I shook my head. “Thank you. I’m sorry Sammy, weird day.”
“No better stress relief than an X5, right?”
Wait. Hold on.
His ID badge. It was supposed to say Queen City BMW. Cincy has been known as the Queen City since basically forever.
“King City BMW always welcomes you, Kash, you know that.”
I shook my head and smiled.
Even Sammy.
I got out of my car. Stretched. Grinned.
“Fuck you, Sammy.”
I raised my fist and clocked him across the jaw as hard as I could.
Sammy fell like a tipped-over mannequin.
I hit him. I hit him again, crouching over him. Fucker thought he could just fuck with me like Larry, like the gas station. Motherfucker. Motherfucker.
I realized I wasn’t just thinking that as I hit him until his blood was all over my face, as people dragged me off him by my shoulders. I was screaming it.
The exam room was grey and windowless. No tools or instruments anywhere near reach, probably all locked away in the metal cabinets. Both my wrists were handcuffed to the chair.
The guard let in a doctor. Late 20s, Asian. I could only feel dead inside. I just stared ahead. Couldn’t even react.
“Mr. Patel, my name is Dr. Shen. I am here to perform your exam to determine if you are competent to stand trial. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I just stared ahead. I barely nodded.
“Mr. Patel, I’ll need you to verbalize a yes or a no before we proceed.”
I looked up at him finally. He had a pin on one lapel of his white coat.
It was Pikachu. Pikachu, with a black stripe at the end of his tail.
I started laughing. Laughing my ass off. Laughing until I screamed.
forbiddencomma 
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