Perpetually Prepared

"Seven bottles of beer on the wall . . . seven bottles of beer! You take one down and pass it around, six bottles of beer on the wall . . . !"

The ambience surrounding the occupants of the many rows of painfully hard, padded, bench-style seats was one of great excitement, with just enough anxiety thrown in to create an air of adventure. The high-pitched, adolescent male voices grew louder and louder as the song drew to its predictable climax, much to the aggravation of the already distracted bus driver, who could have sworn there was some other annoyingly familiar tune, much quieter, going on at the same time.

" . . . . and pass it around, no more bottles of beer on the wall!" The busload of boys cheered and applauded their overrated achievement, slowly allowing the whoops and howls to subside. As the din quieted into casual talking, a strange rising and falling of voices were confirmed as coming from the back of the vehicle. Confused and intrigued by the odd sounds, the boys became silent row by row, turning to pinpoint the source.

Even without any hoopla in the foreground, this odd duet was indiscernible. If the unexpected audience didn’t know any better, the two off-pitch voices seemed to wail....

"Scaramouch, scaramouch, will you do the Fandango - "

On the last "o", Bill became painfully aware of the faces staring over the metal-barred tops of the seats, and clamped his mouth shut as Ted continued to sing, unbridled.

"But I’m just a poor boy and nobody loves me . . . ."

When Bill didn’t confirm the fact that he was a poor boy from a poor family, Ted threw him a frustrated look before elbowing his friend’s arm sharply. Without a word, Bill pointed out the bewildered expressions facing them. Ted confronted the faces with a smile.

"How’s it goin’, fellow wilderness dudes?"

None of the boys replied, instead turning back in their seats to whisper amongst themselves.

Bill slouched in the seat, pouting. "It doesn’t appear that ‘making the best of this’ is going to work, Ted. I doubt there is a best of this!"

"Yah," Ted sighed, searching his pocket for the last quarter of a Mars bar he knew he’d placed there the week before. "You wanna try ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ again?"

"Naw," Bill groaned, sitting dejectedly with his arms crossed.

Ted gave up groping in one pocket and shifted his weight, diving into the pocket on the other side. "Wanna try something else by Queen?"

Bill swung his feet with growing impatience. "This is all your fault, y’know."

There was more depression than spite in Bill’s voice, but Ted still took it to heart. "My fault?"

"If your dad hadn’t talked my parents into sending me on this stupid camping trip, I’d be home sleeping right now!"

"I didn’t know my dad was going to call your folks."

Bill looked at him disbelievingly. "You told him you wished I could go, too!"

Ted continued to finger the contents of his pocket, looking guilty. "This is true. I didn’t want to come up here all by myself."

Dropping his chin to his chest, Bill continued to brood, poring over the plans which had been ruined by his being shanghaied. Sleeping late was just one of the things he’d been looking forward to. He probably would have worked in some lounging by the pool. Oh, and of course going to Waterloop was high on his list. He imagined the high school girls would have been there; he would have made himself comfortable on the steps of the large pool to watch them slide down the chutes head first. He closed his eyes and tried to fully picture it, accidentally letting a smile cross his lips as he envisioned Susan, Catherine . . . and that luscious blonde, Missy . . . . "

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring down at a small square of candy bar sticking out of a peeled back wrapper which Ted was holding in front of him as a peace offering. With a sigh of resignation, Bill pulled the stale candy from the paper and tried, without much success, to break it in half as Ted pocketed the garbage. Tired of straining his fingers, Bill clamped his teeth down in the middle of the piece and bit hard, working his jaws back and forth like a saw until he’d managed to divide it in two. He handed the one half to Ted, who popped it into his mouth, and they both sat, putting a great deal of effort into chewing.

"I suppose," Bill smacked, "we should resign ourselves to anticipate what is sure to be a rich and rewarding week of hiking, crafts and pork and beans."

They glared at one another, smirking nauseously. "Not!"

The bus continued its bouncy journey along the obscure mountain road for some time until it rounded a bend of trees and rolled underneath the commonplace, carved wood sign proclaiming the entrance of Camp Cordillera.

"Here we are!" the bus driver announced over the loudspeaker. It was completely unnecessary to do so. Ignoring the continuing instructions to remain seated until the camp director boarded the bus, the boys began climbing over one another to catch a glimpse of the cabins and administration offices, all constructed to appear rustic, although blatant evidence of modern utilities such as power lines and water meters seemed to be in direct contrast with the camp’s image.

As the bus rattled to a stop, the boys milled about, gathering their things and chatting noisily. The driver opened the door and the camp director, dressed in a khaki-colored uniform not unlike a ranger’s outfit, stepped aboard.

"Welcome, campers!"

The greeting was generally ignored as the boys continued to laugh and talk amongst themselves. The camp director gave the bus driver a sympathetic glance, which the frazzled, middle-aged man really appreciated. Knowing full well what was coming, the driver placed his fingers in his ears and braced himself as the camp director pulled a shiny whistle on a chain from under his shirt and blew a high-pitched blare that brought the boys to silence.

"Greetings, campers!" the director tried again.

"Greetings, camp director dude!" Bill and Ted answered from the back of the bus, inadvertently interrupting the man’s memorized speech.

"Yes, well, I’d like to welcome all of you to Camp Cordillera. If you’ll gather your gear and exit the bus in an orderly fashion, we’ll assemble in front of the director’s office for orientation."

The man stepped off the bus as the boys lifted their backpacks and began filing into the narrow aisle. Ted stood as Bill reached beneath their seat and pulled out a worn rucksack, handing it over. Ted stepped into the aisle, slipping the bag over his shoulders, then watched as Bill knelt down, struggling with two matching suitcases, one notably larger than the other. Bill looked up at Ted, who was eyeing the suitcases with a confused gaze.

"Samsonite," Bill offered.

"Very nice," Ted stated, although it didn’t seem entirely sincere.

Bill was obviously touchy about this subject. "It happens to be the sturdiest luggage available! Haven’t you seen the commercials with the gorilla?"

"Yah . . . but I don’t think they have gorillas in the mountains, dude."

"You never can tell!" Bill defended himself feebly.

Ted couldn’t fathom this logic. "None of the other guys had suitcases," he pointed out.

Bill shot him a look. "Shut up, Ted!" He handed both bags to his friend, who took them without protest, and they turned to exit the bus. "I told my parents I needed a knapsack!" Bill mumbled.

Two counselors directed the boys into two straight lines facing the administration cabin. As they waited for orientation to begin, some nudged their neighbors, pointing out the sign nailed to one of the porch’s roof supports which boldly stated, "Camp Cordillera - Where the Boys are Men". Directly beneath it, unsuccessfully hidden under a coat of paint, was scratched, "And the Men Wear Short Pants". It was true. Though not noticeable over the bus seats, the camp director stood before them on the top step above a line of counselors. All were men and all were wearing shorts.

"Attention, men! Are all present and accounted for?" When there was no reply, he continued. "Okay, listen up! You’re here to learn how to adapt and survive in the wilderness! It’ll be tough, and you have a lot to learn, but I think you will find the experience enriching and highly rewarding! Now then, tonight you will be . . . . "

A loud ruckus again interrupted the memorized speech. Heads turned and the director stood stunned at the sight of Ted awkwardly struggling to get off the bus, trying several times to maneuver through the opening with both suitcases holding him back. Bill stood at the top of the steps, impatiently waiting for Ted to disembark. Realizing they could be there all day by the look of Ted’s progress, Bill threw his weight against Ted’s back, causing Ted to stumble out of the bus and onto the ground with the suitcases landing on either side of him. Bill caught himself on the step railing and hung clumsily above Ted.

"Thanks, dude," Ted mumbled, his face in the dust.

"Whoa! Didn’t mean to push that hard!" Bill apologized, jumping off the bus to help Ted to his feet.

"Excuse me . . . young men!"

Realizing the two boys were out of earshot, the camp director reached behind him to pick up a megaphone, flipping its switch before raising it to his mouth. "Hey!" boomed his now over-amplified voice. "You two, by the bus!"

Bill had pulled Ted to his feet and both turned to give the camp director their attention.

"Is there some sort of problem going on over there?"

The camp director watched as the smaller, blonde boy motioned for his friend to turn around, unzipping the rucksack strapped to the boy’s back, and pulling out what looked like a portable transistor radio, which he handed to the taller boy before groping again for something else. The dark haired one turned the radio on at its highest volume and adjusted the tuning knob until he located a free frequency. At the same time, the blonde tapped the large end of a Mr. Microphone until the sound echoed loudly.

"No, sir!" Bill finally replied in an annoyingly loud, static-ladened voice. "Everything is under control!"

"Uh oh . . . attitudes!" the camp director thought silently before lifting the megaphone again. "Oh, a couple of wise guys, huh?"

"No way!" Bill whined.

Ted pulled the microphone in his direction. "You should see our report cards!"

Bill pushed Ted away from the microphone with a look of disbelief.

"What are your names?" the camp director inquired, quickly losing patience.

"I am Bill S. Preston, Esq.!"

"And I am Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan!"

"And we’re gonna start a band!" Bill added. "Just as soon as we think of a name."

"Yah!" Ted confirmed. "We were thinking about calling ourselves ‘Untamed Horses’, but we can’t figure out a way to mis-spell it."

"Would you mind very much joining us for orientation?"

Bill took the radio from Ted and turned it off before motioning to the bags and leading the way to the lines of boys. After taking their position at the end of one line, Ted set the bags at his feet and both came to attention, saluting the camp director vigorously.

Trying to shake off this distraction, the camp director continued. "Now then, tonight will be spent here in the cabins. You will be divided into groups of ten or so and you will pack the provisions needed for a week’s stay in the woods. Are there any questions?"

Ted automatically raised his hand. "I have a question, camp leader dude."

Already dreading the impending inquiry, the camp director fidgeted nervously before responding. "What is it?"

Ted lowered his arm and saluted the man again, speaking in the most serious tone he could muster. "Will there be an opportunity for us to stop off at a local convenience store for some much needed items? For instance, we are heinously low on pudding cups!"

The camp director stared at the inquisitive expressions on the two boys’ faces incredulously. Unable to think of a suitable reply, he ignored the question. "Let’s have the counselors assign groups and take your names before showing you to your cabins to relax and socialize. Gentlemen?"

The counselors stepped forward to the lines and began separating the boys into groups of ten. The counselor on the far end approached the camp director, who was busy looking over a list of names.

"Excuse me, but do you think I should separate the two troublemakers?"

Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Bill and Ted, the camp director shook his head. "I don’t think we could get those two apart without more hassle than any of us need. Just keep an eye on them."

"Yes, sir."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The boys raced into cabin number four, quickly claiming nearby bunks. After the initial confusion, territories were pretty well established and the young men settled into their surroundings, getting to know one another as they unpacked.

Bill dragged the larger suitcase to the last available bunk beds and studied the sleeping arrangements.

"I want the top one!" Ted stated eagerly, bouncing as he approached.

Bill threw Ted an unsure glance. "I dunno, dude . . . . "

Ted tilted his head questioningly. "What?"

Bill hesitated before speaking. "Have you . . . y’know, gotten that . . . ‘problem’ under control?"

Ted looked even more confused. "What problem, dude?"

Bill glared at Ted impatiently, but his friend remained perplexed. Finally he leaned over and whispered in Ted’s ear.

Ted pulled back, surprised. "That was you, dude!" he reminded Bill.

Bill thought about this, then nodded. "You take the top one," he stated, embarrassed.

Ted pulled his backpack off and tossed it onto the top bunk before jumping up after it. "Excellent! Just hope I don’t get a nosebleed up here."

Bill pushed the large suitcase under the bed with his foot. It didn’t contain anything of great importance anyway; only shirts, socks, clean underwear . . . that sort of thing. He sat down on the bed, taking care not to hit the back of his head on the upper bunk, then pulled the smaller suitcase up and leaned against it, listening to the springs above him creak unsteadily. Sometimes he wondered if Ted had some kind of hyperactivity problem, since it seemed as if his friend never stopped moving.

The other boys appeared to be getting acquainted rather quickly. Bill didn’t get a strong impression that any of them wanted to have anything to do with the pair, and he assumed it was probably because of their clumsy display getting off the bus. He would have to show good standing now, or their chances of being included as two of "the guys" would be hopeless and the week could easily prove to be a living hell.

"So, fellow camping-type dudes," Bill started, getting the nearest boys’ attention. "Wanna outline our after-dark escapades for the week?"

"How d’ya mean?" one boy asked.

"Well, I thought, for a start, we could pull off a truly covert panty raid."

The two nearest boys turned to glare at each other, then looked at Bill with disgust. "What are you? Fags or something?"

"No way!" Bill cried. "I meant on the girls’ cabin!"

"You’re so lame! There’s no girls up here!"

Ted lurched over the edge of the top bunk in shock. "No babes?"

"Drag!" Bill and Ted both sighed.

"So, what’re we gonna do all week?" Bill asked. "Short-sheet each others’ beds and stop up the camp director’s toilet?"

A large, older boy named Peterson, who’d already taken the position of cabin leader, stepped forward to interrupt the conversation, standing with his arms crossed to look as authoritative as possible. "What kind of week do you think this is going to be?"

Bill and Ted shrugged.

"This isn’t Knott’s Berry Farm! This is wilderness survival camp!"

Ted looked down at Bill in confusion, then up at the intense boy. "How much trouble does the wilderness have surviving, anyway?"

"Shut up, bonehead!" Peterson snapped.

Bill jumped to his feet, coming up far too short against the other boy but unintimidated nonetheless. "Hey, you can’t talk to my friend that way!"

"Yah!" Ted harped in. "You tell him, dude!"

"Shut up, Ted!" Bill snapped.

"Get it through your thick skulls!" the group leader continued. "We’re spending a week in the woods living on the barest essentials. No electricity, no telephones . . . . "

"No t.v.?" Ted asked worriedly.

"Nothing but our wits!" He turned, leaving the two pondering this statement, and approached his bunkmate. "Obviously our cabin ended up with the dead weight in that department!"

"Yeah," the second boy agreed, eyeing Bill and Ted warily.

Peterson suddenly looked thoughtful, keeping his voice down. "Then again . . . this might work to our advantage."

Bill sat back on the edge of the lower bunk to worry. "Ted, I am deeply concerned about this most heinous turn of events."

"Yah," Ted sighed, dropping his chin onto his crossed arms.

Bill looked up at Ted worriedly. "How many pudding cups we got left, anyway?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Group four . . . halt!"

The counselor turned as the line of boys approached, gathering around the spot where he had stopped.

"Okay, men! This will be your campsite for the next five days. I hope all of you were paying attention at the training talk this morning. To really understand the basics of survival, it is vital you work together as a group. Learn to rely on yourself and your fellow camper. Right?"

"Yes, sir," the boys answered.

"Now then, I’ll give you fellows a chance to set up your campsite. Should take you about ninety minutes to get the tents up. Do you think you can manage it?"

"Yes, sir!" the boys again answered in unison.

"Remember, I’ll be camped about fifty yards to the north. Are there any questions?"

"Yah!" Bill stated as he and Ted finally caught up with the group. "Did we miss anything important just now?"

The counselor stepped toward the group leader and eyed him apologetically. "I’ll trust you to fill them in, Peterson."

Turning away, the counselor followed a path leading north as the boys wriggled free of their heavy backpacks and Peterson stepped to Bill and Ted smugly.

"So, what’d the counselor say?" Bill asked.

"He said the last ones to reach the campsite have to pitch the tents while the rest of the group checks out the surrounding area."

"Bogus!" Bill and Ted sighed.

Peterson pointed to where the others had dropped their gear. "They’re over there. And make sure you do a good job!"

The rest of the group giggled among themselves as they followed Peterson into the woods, leaving the bewildered pair standing alone in the clearing. Once the boys were out of sight, Ted allowed his legs to buckle, moaning under the weight of his overstuffed rucksack strapped to his back. He threw his shoulders back, allowing the burden to drop to the ground noisily.

"Watch it!" Bill cried. "All my stuff’s in there!"

"As if my back couldn’t tell," Ted whined painfully.

"I couldn’t drag those suitcases all the way up here! Besides, I only packed the barest of essentials!"

Ted eyed Bill with confusion. "Your best suit?"

Bill motioned wildly. "I never know when I’ll need it!"

"Yah, but I don’t remember the camp director saying anything about holding a formal around the campfire."

"Come on!" Bill moaned. "What about all the cassette tapes you insisted on bringing?"

"I wanna be able to listen to my music!" Ted explained.

Bill tilted his head with a smirk. "We don’t got a tape deck, dude!"

Ted thought about this. "Oh . . . yah."

Bill sighed, realizing this was getting them nowhere. "We’d better pitch the tents before the guys get back or our social standing will be in most heinous jeopardy."

"Whoa!" Ted exclaimed. "They really do want us to rough it! We don’t even get to use the tents!"

Having found a shady place above a small brook not far from the campsite, Peterson and the others were relaxing.

"I can’t believe you duped those guys into setting up the tents for us!" one boy laughed.

Peterson leaned back against a tree and sighed deeply. "If we play our cards right, we could have them doing everything!"

"Hey, how’s it goin’, slothful camping dudes?" a voice called out.

The boys turned to see Bill and Ted approaching.

"You haven’t finished pitching the tents, have you?" Peterson asked.

"Yes, sir!" Ted saluted. "It was a most non-challenging task."

The boys exchanged looks of disbelief. "This I’ve got to see!" Peterson stated with a laugh, and the boys quickly got to their feet and headed back to the clearing, rushing past Bill and Ted, who shrugged and followed.

The group came to a confused stop when they reached the campsite and saw pretty much what they’d left before; an empty clearing.

Peterson turned on Bill and Ted angrily. "You said you pitched the tents!"

"We did," Bill assured him.

Peterson looked around again, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow missed them. "Well, where are they?"

"At the bottom of a most deep ravine," Ted said proudly. "When we pitch something, it stays pitched!"

As this news hit them, the boys turned fierce looks of anger upon Peterson, who wished he could simply disappear.

"No need to thank us for a job most triumphantly accomplished!" Bill stated not so humbly.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Lions and tigers and bear . . . . "

"Okay!" Bill cried. "I got the idea already!"

Ted obligingly stopped chanting as they walked along a narrow path through the woods. "I sure hope group three will have lunch ready by the time we get there! I am most famished."

"Yah," Bill agreed. "I haven’t seen one Circle K since we got here!"

They walked without saying a word to each other for a while.

"Maybe they’ll have the camp set up by the time we get there, and we won’t have to do any work!" Ted thought aloud.

Bill shook his head. "I dunno. If group three is as undermanned as Peterson said, they may have us workin’ a lot!"

"Heinous," they both sighed.

Ted flipped his bangs aside and brightened. "We must be most excellent wilderness survivalists! Out of all the guys, they picked us to go help our fellow campers in their hour of need!"

"Yah," Bill agreed, furrowing his eyebrows. "I wonder how they knew group three needed more dudes."

They stared at one another for a second then shrugged.

"This must be their encampment," Bill reported as they stepped out of the woods to find themselves at the edge of group three’s campsite.

"Fear not, egregiously undermanned group three dudes!" Ted announced loudly to get the group’s attention. "We are here to save the day!"

The group leader, a slender boy named Thompson, approached them with confusion. "What’re you guys doing here? You’re not part of our group!"

"Our group leader said we should come help your group, seeing how our group has too many guys and your group doesn’t have nearly enough."

The boys of group three had gathered around, listening with surprise. "But we have ten members, just like all the other groups!" one boy pointed out.

Bill and Ted exchanged bewildered looks, then eyed the boys again. "Maybe the guys you’ve got are just totally useless," Ted suggested.

This statement was greeted with rather harsh stares and grumblings.

"Not true, Ted," Bill stated, pointing to the large parachute tent set up in the middle of the clearing. "Look at the size of the tent they set up!"

"Whoa!" Ted gasped in awe. "Not bad! That must be the camp leader’s quarters. Boy, he sure knows how to camp in style!"

The group walked toward the tent as Thompson spoke. "Don’t be so retarded! We decided to take the parachute tent instead of everyone having to carry up their own. Saves us energy and space."

"You mean you’re all gonna sleep in there . . . " Bill gulped loudly. " . . . together?"

"Of course," Thompson confirmed.

Bill and Ted glared at each other, close to saying aloud what was on their minds but holding their tongues.

"We were about to cook lunch," another boy informed them.

"Excellent!" Bill said eagerly, motioning for Ted to drop his backpack. "We are truly famished!"

"Yeah, well, we don’t need any freeloaders in this group! Seeing as you didn’t help with the tent, you can cook the food! That way you can earn your meals."

"Certainly," Ted agreed. "Where’s the hibachi?"

"There’s no hibachi!" another boy moaned, pushing a package of hot dogs and a can of beans into their hands. "You gotta make a fire and cook it that way!"

"You do know how to start a fire, don’t you?" Thompson asked.

"Most assuredly," Bill and Ted answered.

"Do not worry," Bill added. "We will have a fabulous feast prepared in no time!"

"All right then," Thompson sighed, not thoroughly convinced. "We’ll get some wood. You get started." He motioned to the others. "Come on, guys. And nothing green!"

Ted turned to Bill after the boys busily started looking for nearby wood. "How do we get started, exactly?"

"Rocks, dude," Bill reminded him.

"Oh, yeah!" Ted brightened. He looked around, locating two rocks as Bill began to search as well. Eyeing the stones uncertainly, Ted shrugged before bringing them together sharply, then dropped them with a yelp as the resounding shock painfully shot through his hands.

Bill turned with concern. "What’re ya doin’, dude?"

Ted shook his hands. "I was trying to start a fire! You said we needed rocks."

Bill tilted his head with impatience. "The rocks are to make the fire in, Ted! You don’t start a fire with rocks!"

"What do you start a fire with, then? Sticks?"

"Don’t be primitive, dude," Bill scolded, then shoved his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a cigarette lighter. "We’ll use this!"

"Whoa! You still carryin’ that around?"

"Of course, Ted," Bill answered proudly.

Ted shook his head, deeply moved. "I gave that to you two years ago to take to our first rock concert."

"Yeah," Bill sighed, remembering. "And when we go to our first rock concert, it’ll be there in all its burning glory."

"Undoubtedly, it will be a most unrivaled event," Ted sighed dreamily.

Bill raised the lighter over his head, as if he had practiced the move many times before, and flicked the small, metal wheel several times before a bright flame shot out of the small, plastic instrument. The two boys stood in respect of the make-believe rock idols they pretended to face, unaware as the flame reached up and enveloped one of the ropes of the large tent.

When group three returned to the campsite with their arms loaded with firewood, they came to an abrupt halt; their mouths hanging open in shock.

"What the Hell . . . ?" Thompson cried.

"Worry not, diligent firewood gatherers!" Ted interrupted, turning the hot dogs pierced on a stick so the other sides could get brown over the still burning remains of the tent. "We have the situation totally under control!"

"This is most accurate," Bill agreed. "Your sleeping quarters were highly combustible, but makes for most resplendent barbecuing!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Okay, guys! Let’s get the supplies sorted out and stored! Food over there, medical supplies over there . . . . "

"And where do you want us?" an unfamiliar voice interrupted.

The group leader, a small, muscular boy named Harrison, turned with surprise as Bill and Ted walked out of the woods. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We were sent by a most irate group three," Bill informed the group.

"But . . . I thought you guys were with group four!" another boy pointed out.

"That was a substantial amount of time ago," Bill explained. "Now we’re gonna be part of your group!"

The members of group two moaned audibly until Harrison shushed them, although his expression wasn’t much happier. "We don’t need any more guys in our group."

"It would stand to reason the more dudes you got the better when it comes to wilderness survival," Ted hypothesized.

"That is a most logical conclusion," Bill agreed, patting Ted’s shoulder. "There must be something you can find for us to do!"

Harrison looked around, hoping something would come to mind. "Well, as a matter of fact, you could store the food so it’s safe. You remember how they told us to do that?"

Bill and Ted exchanged a glance, recounting the important air guitar duet they had been practicing during that part of the orientation, but, fearing being rejected again, they weren’t about to admit their ignorance.

"Yah, sure!" Bill assured Harrison. "We will storage your food so it is safe from all manner of wilderness beast."

"Okay, then go ahead. We’ll be busy sorting out the other supplies. Come on, guys."

Bill and Ted eyed the food supplies with concern. "How’re we gonna store this stuff?" Ted asked.

"I dunno, Ted. Do you remember anything that guy was saying this morning?"

Ted shook his head vigorously. "Uh uh. Except that you should make sure no vicious animals can get into the stuff. I guess he meant like wolverines and pumas."

Bill looked skeptical. "They wouldn’t let kids camp in areas with real wild animals! Think what their insurance rates would be like!"

Ted nodded in agreement. "I guess they meant rats and mice, then."

"So whatta we do? We don’t got no mousetraps or roach motels."

Something rustling in the bushes caught Ted’s attention, and he eagerly tugged at Bill’s sleeve, motioning to the small form wandering nearby. "Check it out, dude!"

"Whoa!" Bill exclaimed. "A timely solution to our most heinous predicament!"

The members of group two felt a proud sense of accomplishment once their supplies were sorted and stored properly. They walked across the campsite to where they’d left Bill and Ted to store the food, and found the pair seated comfortably in front of a small tent.

"How did it go?" Harrison asked.

"Most triumphantly," Bill stated. "The chow is truly safe from predatory vermin."

Harrison looked up at the trees nearby, but could not see any supplies dangling from the branches as he would have expected. "Yeah? So where is it?"

"In this tent." Ted pointed behind him.

Harrison shook his head as if he hadn’t heard right. "How do you figure the food is safe in a tent?"

"As luck would have it, a wayward kitty cat was more than happy to volunteer for guard duty, thereby insuring no rats or mice will be able to infiltrate your munchies."

"Cat?" the boys cried, already imagining with some dread what kind of animal was now enclosed within the canvas tent with their food. Harrison cautiously stepped forward, followed closely by two other boys, as they approached the tent flap and pulled it aside. Seeing no immediate danger, the three stepped inside. Moments later, screams came from within the tent, and the boys raced out desperately, yelling and shouting profanities as they dashed about in great distress. A strong, sickening odor began permeating the campsite as the other boys joined in the aggravated exclamations. Bill and Ted pinched their noses but remained seated where they were, watching as the black and white striped "cat" exited the tent and strolled casually into the woods.

"Whew, Ted . . . I think an odor-eliminating cat box litter would truly be in order at this time."

"Definitely," Ted agreed through his pinched nose.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"I fear our previous group experiences have been following a definite pattern," Bill observed as he and Ted walked along the narrow path on their way to group one’s campsite.

"Really?" asked Ted between bites of a Butterfinger bar. "How?"

"Thus far they have been equally disastrous," Bill sighed.

"Really?" Ted repeated, this information truly taking him be surprise. "I thought we were doing quite well, considering this is our first camping excursion."

"I dunno, Ted," Bill continued. "I do not think our fellow campers have much confidence in our wilderness survival capabilities, seeing we have been run out of every group so far."

"I believe we have not yet found out niche," Ted offered hopefully. "Things can only get better. Want the last bite?"

"No thanks, dude."

Ted noisily chomped down the last of the candy. Once he had swallowed it, he began to sing again, softly, under his breath.

"Lions and tigers . . . . "

"And bears!" Bill finished, coming to an abrupt halt.

"Yah!" Ted agreed, happy to see that Bill had finally gotten into the spirit of the song.

"No, Ted," Bill corrected. "Look!"

Ahead of them, on the path, two black bear cubs rolled over one another playfully.

"What’re we supposed to do if we run into bears?" Ted asked nervously.

"I think we’re supposed to play dead, dude," Bill thought aloud.

Ted shrugged. "Well, okay."

The two immediately went into over-dramatic versions of dying; the type boys engage in when they’ve been shot by enemy fire in a game of war or cowboys. Flopping to the ground, they each gave a few final kicks and jerks before lying completely still, daring only to open one eye or the other to see if their pathetic masquerade had fooled the cubs.

Apparently it hadn’t, as the two young bears became intrigued with the display and hurried over to investigate the seemingly lifeless figures.

Bill kept his eyes clamped shut as the bears approached, one of them casually sniffing him over before moving on to Ted. Pretty soon he could hear Ted giggling uncontrollably, and opened one eye, turning his head to look at his friend in frustration.

"Ted! Dead dudes don’t laugh!"

"I’m sorry," Ted managed to say between badly stifled laughs. "But it tickles!"

Bill sat up and saw the two cubs busily licking Ted’s fingers, having found the sticky remains of the candy bar Ted had been eating. Realizing he was doing a poor job of being dead, Ted sat up, holding his fingers out so the bears could finish cleaning them.

"Looks like our dramatic performances don’t fool even the smallest of woodland creatures’ minds," Bill sighed in defeat.

"Guess we are most non-triumphant actors," Ted agreed as one of the cubs climbed into his lap and sniffed at his face.

Bill climbed to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes. "Guess we’d better get going. C’mon, Ted."

"Aw, can’t we hang around a bit longer?" Ted whined, rubbing one of the cub’s stomachs. "I think these little guys wanna play!"

"Ted, this is not a petting zoo! We have to get to group one’s camp and make a name for ourselves, or we’ll flunk wilderness survival camp and catch some most egregious heat from our folks!"

Ted nodded sadly, gently pushing the cub from his lap as Bill offered him a hand up with his heavy backpack. "Sorry, furry woodland creatures," he apologized. "My compadre is most correct. If there’s one thing we don’t wanna do, it’s upset any easily angered parental figures."

Giving the two bears a final pat on the head, Ted turned to follow Bill down the path. The cubs sat in confusion a moment, crying gently. Finally they scurried after the two boys, hoping to catch up to them for more sugary fingers and tummy rubs. Unbeknownst to all four youngsters, an easily angered parental figure, now unable to find her babies, was not far behind.

"Hey there, group numero uno dudes!" Bill greeted as they approached the circle of seated boys. "What’s up?"

Group one’s leader, a dark, tall boy named Wilson, eyed Bill and Ted with surprise. "Aren’t you guys quite a ways from your group?"

"Not really," Ted said, "seeing this is now our group."

A collected moan rose from the circle. Wilson was quick to intervene. "We don’t have room in our group for any more guys," he said apologetically.

"Surely you can squeeze us in," Bill stated. "We are two dudes ready to conform to your camping standards."

"That’s nice, but you see, we’re right in the middle of presenting our nature finds."

"Ooh, nature finds!" Ted gasped excitedly before leaning to whisper in Bill’s ear. "What’re nature finds?"

Wilson held up a small branch with leaves as an example. "Everyone’s supposed to gather something interesting from the surrounding area and share it with the rest of the group. Since you guys don’t have anything, I guess that leaves you out."

The group of boys let out false moans of disappointment and a few giggles as they ignored Bill and Ted, who stood dejected outside the circle.

"Again we are most alienated," Ted sighed.

"If only we had found some nature to share with the group," Bill sighed. "Perhaps we would have been eagerly accepted instead."

A rustling sound behind them caught Ted’s attention and he turned to see the bear cubs running toward them eagerly.

"Whoa, Bill! I believe there may yet be a solution to our problem!"

Wilson had just finished explaining the background of the larch tree when Bill and Ted coughed loudly, attracting the group’s attention. The boys turned to see the two standing behind them, each holding a bear cub clumsily in their arms.

"Are these outstanding nature finds, or what?" Ted asked.

The boys’ eyes grew wide and they jumped to their feet, backing away as the huge form of an angry mother bear appeared from the woods behind the heedless Bill and Ted.

"Maybe these don’t count," Bill realized worriedly, "seeing as how they found us instead of us finding them."

Ted seriously turned this over in his mind. "I think it could be considered a mutual find," he concluded matter-of-factly.

When they turned back to face the group, the boys had disappeared. Looking around, they finally realized the boys were now hanging from the branches of the trees all around.

"Is this a different part of your nature studies?" Bill asked curiously, unaware of the mother bear approaching from behind.

"Get out of here!" Wilson cried in frustration from above.

Bill and Ted stared up at the group leader sadly. "Does this mean we don’t get to be in your group?"

"No! Go back to group four, where you belong!"

Exchanging hurt glances, Bill and Ted gently lowered the bear cubs to the ground. "Okay, okay," Bill sighed. "We can take a hint. C’mon, Ted."

Group one watched as Bill and Ted walked away from the cubs. The mother bear hurried to her babies, carefully sniffing them over to make sure they were all right. Seeing no harm was done, the cubs busied themselves eating the nuts and berries the boys had gathered for their nature find studies as their mother worked on ripping apart one of the closest tents.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The two boys walked along the narrow path, their heads lowered.

"Ted, my friend, do you realize we have been booted out of every single group?"

"Yah. Guess that’s what they mean by ‘boot’ camp. I wonder what the guys in group four will say when we show up again."

Bill stopped suddenly and slumped into a sitting position on a nearby rock. Ted walked over to him in surprise.

"Ted, if we go back to group four, they’ll just kick us out again!" He placed his chin on one hand as Ted sat beside him. "Let’s face it . . . we are total washouts when it comes to camping. No one wants us."

Ted dropped his head sadly, then raised it questioningly. "So what’re we gonna do?"

Bill stood up again, hands on hips. "This wilderness survival stuff is most bogus! What say we go back to the cabins and spend the rest of the week there?"

"Won’t the camp director get cheesed off at us?" Ted asked, struggling to stand again with the heavy backpack weighing him down.

"I don’t think anyone’s gonna care, as long as we’re out of everybody’s way."

Ted nodded vigorously. "Okay. Which way is it?"

Bill shaded his eyes from the bright, afternoon sun and tried to get his bearings. "Let’s see . . . when we left the camp this morning, we were walking away from the sun. So if we walk towards the sun it should lead us back to where we started, right?"

"A most logical conclusion!" Ted agreed eagerly.

"C’mon," Bill motioned. "I’ll bet we can find some food in the mess hall for dinner when we get there."

They continued on for some time, discussing important matters such as the new album releases and upcoming concerts they probably wouldn’t be able to talk their parents into letting them attend, until they both realized they were getting pretty tired and stopped to rest.

"Dude," Ted moaned, shifting his shoulders to reposition the backpack. "Shouldn’t we be there by now?"

"I dunno, Ted," Bill admitted, looking around to see if anything looked familiar, which it didn’t. "Whoever designed the woods should’ve thought to put in a few roadsigns."

Ted shaded his eyes from the lowering sun. "How much daylight you think we got left?"

Bill looked at Ted impatiently. "How should I know? You’ve got the watch, dude!"

"Oh . . . yah!" Ted looked down at his wrist and immediately brightened. "Whoa, dude, it’s only ten eighteen in the morning! We still got tons of time!"

Bill walked over to Ted and pulled his friend’s wrist up to his ear to listen to the timepiece. "Ted . . . . "

"Oh," Ted sighed, realizing. "I forgot again?"

"One of these days you gotta ask your folks for an electric watch."

"But I like this one!" Ted moaned.

"It’s a piece of junk!"

"You gave it to me!"

"Did I say I had good taste???"

Bill’s voice was unusually high, and Ted sensed a great deal of tension from his friend. He didn’t consider this a good sign. "Are we lost, dude?"

Bill eyed Ted worriedly. "I fear so, Ted."

"What’re we gonna do?" Ted asked nervously. "We don’t got tents or supplies or woodsmanship-know-how."

"They’ve gotta come lookin’ for us," Bill pointed out. "It wouldn’t do them any good to have to tell our folks they lost us!"

"But everybody thinks we’re with everybody else’s group," Ted sighed. "They might not notice us missing for days! We’ll starve without a Circle K!"

"C’mon, Ted! Get a grip! We’re not gonna starve!"

The wide-eyed expression Ted gave him after this statement absolutely baffled him. "What? What??"

"You don’t mean . . . I mean, if I go first . . . would you??"

Bill’s face wrinkled when he realized what Ted was inferring. "Ugh! That is a most repulsive thought!"

The hurt look on Ted’s face only further confused Bill. "So, what’re you saying, exactly?"

Bill sighed in exasperation. "Geez, Ted! Would you eat me?"

"No," Ted admitted. "But I wouldn’t say that to your face."

Bill felt his head spin. "Look, neither of us is gonna starve and we aren’t going to have to eat one another. Okay?"

"So . . . what are we gonna do?"

Bill hesitated, wanting to make the right decision. "The camp can’t be too far away. We’ll keep walking and if we don’t find anyone in an hour we’ll stop and rethink our strategy."

"Sounds good, dude," Ted agreed as they began walking again.

"Oh, and dude . . . . "

"What?"

"Wind your watch, will ya?"

"Oh yah."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"How long’s it been?"

Ted lifted his wrist, sighing nervously as he eyed his watch. "Just ‘bout an hour, dude, and we appear to be no closer to finding anything resembling a campground."

They came to a stop on a ridge above an incline, taking a moment to glance around just in case they’d missed a cabin or campsite.

"Is it time to rethink our strategy?" Ted asked.

"S’pose so," Bill sighed. "Any ideas?"

Ted dropped the backpack from his shoulders, allowing it to dangle at his left side. "I dunno. I never got lost before."

"You said you got lost at Disneyland once," Bill pointed out.

"Oh yah! That’s right! And I got outta there okay!"

"Great!" Bill said excitedly. "What’d ya do?"

Ted thought about this intensely, finishing with a snap of his fingers. "Goofy came along and took me to this booth until my parents came to get me!"

Bill moaned with disappointment. "Somehow I don’t think Goofy’s gonna materialize and lead us home."

Ted rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Well, of course not! We’re in the woods!"

They stood in silence a moment.

"Winnie the Pooh, on the other hand, would be most probable," Ted concluded aloud.

This statement produced a wide-eyed look of disbelief on Bill’s face, which dissolved into an accusing smirk as he reached out and gave Ted a playful shove. "Get outta here, dude!"

Stepping back to counter the force of the shove, Ted felt his foot begin to slide down the incline behind him. The weight of the backpack further threw him off balance, and the next thing he knew he was falling backwards.

Ted disappeared so quickly, it took Bill a second to react. He stood, stunned, horrified at what he’d done.

"Ted?" he called, hopefully.

When there was no reply, he got down on his knees and leaned closer to the edge nervously. "Ted?"

With a sudden flurry of movement, Ted popped up in front of him. "Did it sound like I fell a long way?" he asked playfully.

Anger and relief simultaneously rushed through Bill as he lunged at Ted roughly. Together they tumbled down the small incline, roughhousing like two playful puppies until they came to a rest at the bottom of the hill beside the backpack.

Bill sat on top of Ted to hold him down, which was really unnecessary since Ted was giggling so hard he could barely offer any defense. Bill lightly slapped at Ted’s face, tiredly exhaling in a style somewhere between sighing and laughing. "Don’t scare me like that!"

"Sorry, dude," Ted laughed, blocking the harmless blows his friend was trying to inflict.

Suddenly Bill froze, having caught the sound of something humming in a way that didn’t seem to fit in the woods. As it grew louder, he urged Ted to be quiet so he could listen. Ted turned his head, straining to place the sound as well. Moments later, a large truck slowly rolled by on a curving dirt road which neither of them had noticed was only ten feet from where they’d landed. Bushes kept them hidden from the driver’s view as they watched the truck come to a near stop to negotiate the turn ahead.

Bill pushed himself up quickly, inadvertently using Ted’s face to do so. "Whoa, Ted! C’mon!"

Without question, Ted jumped to his feet, scooping up the backpack before chasing after Bill, who was running toward the truck as it lurched uphill, gradually picking up speed.

By the time Bill reached the back of the truck, it was moving along steadily. Ted had almost made up the distance behind him as Bill reached out to grab a handle on the truck’s back panel and jump onto the runner, clinging unsteadily until he’d managed to sit down sideways.

Holding on with one hand, Bill stretched the other out to Ted, taking the backpack from him and pulling it aboard safely. Ted then managed an extra burst of speed to grab onto the opposite handle and pull himself up. The truck seemed to slow slightly with the extra weight, then noisily switched into a lower gear to pick up speed again.

"Not bad!" Bill commented excitedly.

"Yah! I wonder where we’re goin’!"

"Can’t be any worse than where we’ve been!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

For about half an hour the truck bounced along the windy, mountain road, its driver unaware of the two hitchhikers clinging to the back. As the sky grew darker, there were fewer bends in the road and the grade became hardly noticeable as the vehicle turned onto a two lane highway with more traffic.

"Are you a vegetable?" Bill yelled out to be heard over the truck’s engine.

Ted thought about this for some time. "Yah!"

"Are you a tank?" Bill asked with some skepticism.

"Yah!!" Ted answered, amazed.

"I thought you said you were a vegetable, dude."

"Yah?" Ted’s voice was confused.

Bill laughed. "A tank isn’t a vegetable, dude!"

"Oh," Ted sighed, then he gave Bill a questioning look. "Then why’d you guess a tank?"

"You’re always a tank!" Bill laughed.

"Yah," Ted smiled, nodding.

The boys then noticed they were passing a small antique shop; its storefront resembling a log cabin. An auto parts store and cafe also whizzed by before the truck slowed and bumped up a driveway into a gas station, pulling to a stop beside a long semi.

When the truck had come to a complete stop, Bill and Ted stepped off the back runner, stretching to reacquaint themselves with their cramped leg muscles. The driver of the truck stepped around to his gas tank and noticed the two boys.

"Thanks a lot, trucker dude!" Bill offered, leaving the man baffled.

"How far d’ya think we’ve gone?" Ted asked, looking around as they walked along the side of the semi.

"Must’ve been a long way!" Bill dramatized. "But I still don’t think we’re that close to San Dimas."

"This still looks like the mountains," Ted observed.

"It’s just as well," Bill sighed.

"Why?"

"Think about it, dude. We can’t go home. Our parents’ll be cheesed off if they find out we bailed on survival camp!"

"I don’t wanna go back there, Bill," Ted moaned, shouldering the backpack.

"I thoroughly agree with you, Ted. It’s gettin’ dark, and it will undoubtedly be cold out there in the woods!"

"But what’ll we do? Where can we go?"

Bill was about to offer some kind of answer when the semi next to them revved to life, so he waited, hoping something would come to mind in the short time it would take the truck to pull out of the gas station. They watched the 18-wheeler shift into gear and drive away, revealing what it had been hiding from their view.

"Whoa!" both boys sighed in awe, gaping at the five story, rustic mountain resort nestled in the hills across the road from them. As if on cue, the lights lining the long, shiny driveway leading upwards to the hotel’s front doors came to life, as if beckoning them toward the sanctuary.

"Not bad!" Bill gasped. "I wouldn’t mind staying in a place like that!"

"Me neither. But we barely have enough money between us for a low-priced hoagie!" Ted reminded Bill with disappointment.

"It doesn’t cost to look! C’mon, Ted!"

They jogged across the street to the driveway and followed it to the doors of the hotel, giving "hang loose" signs to the doorman, who eyed them somewhat skeptically as they entered.

The young boys came to a stop inside the revolving doors, gaping at the lavish interior design which screamed of opulence. Chandeliers glittered above the dark wood reception desk; its unassuming signs directing the clientele were gold with engraved lettering. All of the furniture was plush with velvet upholstery that showed little, if no, sign of wear. In fact, everywhere they looked their eyes came across something luxurious.

"Whoa!" was all they could offer, slowly stepping forward into this wonderland as if they weren’t quite sure they were really there.

As they passed the reception desk, they couldn’t help but notice an excited, middle-aged man, apparently the hotel manager, speaking anxiously to the bell captain.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes, sir," the bell captain answered.

"Good," the manager sighed with relief. "Mr. Jones will be arriving at any time!" He looked worried again. "Have the caterers delivered the dishes he requested for room service tonight?"

"In the kitchen," the bell captain calmly informed him. "What about the limo service? He wants it available at all times, remember?"

The manager eyed the bell captain impatiently. "I’ve made a mental note of it."

Bill and Ted passed the desk unnoticed by the worried manager.

"This Mr. Jones must be one important dude!" Ted remarked.

"Undoubtedly," Bill agreed.

Beyond the reception desk, the hotel branched several directions. On the corner to their left was a doorway leading to a darkened room spotted with the flicker of candlelight which was reflecting in the mirror above a wetbar. Soft piano music from the lounge caught their ears as they passed, directing their attention to the large windows ahead from them which revealed a glowing, bright blue, indoor swimming pool.

They ran up a grand staircase to the second floor hallway which led to several conference rooms and a small ballroom. The other side of the walkway was lined with windows that offered an interesting view of the swimming pool below. The hotel seemed fairly quiet, although two people were swimming in the shining water.

"Truly, this is a five star establishment," Bill stated.

"No doubt, Bill. I bet all the rooms got towels with the hotel’s name embroidered on the edge!"

"And those little bottles of shampoos and other assorted toiletries," Bill added.

A dreamy look came to Ted’s face. "And a tiny, little mint in the middle of the pillow."

Bill’s eyes grew large in awe. "I’ve heard about that!"

The smile on Ted’s face parted into a large yawn. The contagious act forced Bill to do the same, and he realized he was incredibly tired. He eyed Ted with concern, realizing his friend had to be even more tired, having to carry the weight of their possessions all day.

Motioning for Ted to follow, Bill walked the length of the hallway overlooking the pool area. The corridor continued beyond that, providing access to the conference rooms, but Bill stopped to open a door on the pool side, revealing a staircase leading upward. Without question, Ted followed Bill up the stairs, just as curious to find out where they led.

At the top of the stairs was another door, and Bill pushed it open, stepping out onto the roof above the pool. Ted followed, allowing the door to shut, unlocked, behind them. A good portion of the roof area was covered with large, domed skylights which glowed with the shimmering light from the pool beneath them. They stopped at one of the glass windows, taken in by the distance they were above the pool and the peculiar view the skylight allowed.

Ted pulled his shoulders free from the backpack and set it down next to the skylight, sitting beside it. Surprisingly, the roof wasn’t cold; warmed by the heat of the pool area below and the warm air being exhausted from the huge vents all around them. Ted gazed up at the two stories still above them as Bill sat down next to him.

"We’re not goin’ anywhere tonight, dude," Bill pointed out. "Maybe we’d better get some sleep."

"Yah," Ted sighed, untying his jacket from around his waist to roll into a ball and use as a pillow. Bill watched him, then looked to his own waist to find he didn’t have a jacket tied there as well. Ted was about to lie down, but paused to eye Bill worriedly. Bill reached for the backpack and unzipped it, pulling out his good suit which he proceeded to wad into a bundle.

"I knew it would come in handy," Bill commented as both boys laid down to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The smell of hotcakes was so strong he could actually taste them. Slowly Bill lifted his head, inhaling deeply to enjoy the aroma, even though he was still mostly asleep. He forced one eye open, unsure of where he was for a moment. By the time the second eye opened, he recognized the roof of the hotel, even though it was now getting light.

The delicious odor wafting from one of the nearest vents seemed to reach into his very stomach, churning it into deep growls.

"Hey, Ted. Wake up!"

"Mmphmmm?" Ted moaned in unconscious reply.

"Wake up, dude! I smell breakfast!"

Ted groggily lifted his head, looking around through thick lashes of sleepy eyes. "Did someone say breakfast? I am most supremely hungry."

"Get up!" Bill urged. "Let’s find out where that smell is coming from!"

After gathering their things, they hurried down the stairs to the lobby, pausing at the bottom to look around. The smell was already stronger, and they followed it down the hallway past the now closed bar.

Bill and Ted just caught a glimpse of a man dressed in white exiting the dining area through a swinging double door on the other side of the room when they entered. Small tables with flowered centerpieces were arranged all around and a long buffet table of various breakfast foods was set up against the adjoining wall. They hurried to the table and gazed hungrily at the piles of hotcakes, heated trays of scrambled eggs and bacon and baskets of muffins.

"A most excellent spread," Bill said in awe, reaching out to take a muffin.

"But, Bill!" Ted caught his arm. "We aren’t guests of the hotel. This food doesn’t belong to us!"

"Oh yah," Bill sighed sadly, remembering. "Maybe there’s something we can do to earn some food."

"Like what?"

Bill looked around before spotting several piles of plates and containers of silverware at the head of the table. "I got it, Ted! The waiters have not yet set the tables. That oughta be worth a coupla hotcakes, anyway."

"Okay!" Ted agreed.

They immediately busied themselves with the task, placing the plates at every table with the proper silverware and napkins at each setting. In no time they had every place set.

"That’ll save the kitchen dudes some work," Bill commented, brushing his hands together confidently. "We’ll just take a little food to tide us over ‘til later."

They each took two hotcakes and a blueberry muffin apiece before exiting the dining area. Moments later, the man in white returned and stared in stunned silence at the tables which were now set.

"What in the world . . . ?" the man gasped, scratching his head as he tried to figure out how the plates and silverware had moved from their proper place at the head of the buffet table.

Carrying a tray of hashed brown potatoes for the buffet, the head waiter entered the dining area, passing the stunned waiter. "What’s with you?" he asked, laughing slightly at the man’s startled expression. He stopped, following the shaking finger as it pointed toward the set tables. The head waiter took in this sight with some surprise, then turned an angry smirk toward his subordinate. "You’d care to explain?"

"I . . . I don’t know! They weren’t like that a minute ago!"

The head waiter walked to the buffet table and set down the tray over a low flame gas burner. "I suppose the silverware just set itself then." He laughed heartily all the way back to the kitchen with the poor, baffled waiter scurrying behind him, begging to be believed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"That was a most resplendent breakfast," Ted sighed, licking his fingers.

"Yah," Bill agreed, pushing himself up from the foot of the stairs where they were sitting. "Certainly better than nuts and berries, which is probably what our fellow camping dudes are eating."

"Are we gonna go back?" Ted asked nervously, grabbing the handles of his rucksack. "They’re probably totally cheesed off at us for bailing."

Bill thought a moment. "Well . . . they say when you’re lost you should stay where you are until somebody finds you."

"And we are most definitely lost," Ted confirmed.

"Yah. I don’t think we could find out way back to the camp if we wanted to."

"And we don’t want to anyway . . . not really."

Bill looked at Ted worriedly. "But we gotta go back! No one will think to look for us here. And we’ll miss the bus back to San Dimas."

"But the bus won’t be here until Saturday," Ted pointed out.

They both remained silent a moment, trying to think.

"We’ll worry about it later," Bill decided. "As long as we’re back by Saturday."

Ted smiled broadly as he got to his feet, pulling the rucksack onto his shoulders. "And that gives us plenty of time to scope out the rest of this most excellent hotel!"

"Yah!" Bill agreed happily. "Hey, I wonder how fast the elevators go!"

They hurried to the elevator and pressed the up button. The doors slid open and they waited until two elderly people had exited before stepping in. Bill pushed the button for the fifth floor and within moments the doors closed and the elevator began its journey upward. Both boys cringed as their stomachs sank with the odd movement.

"I hate this part!" they informed each other aloud.

The elevator slowed as the number four above the doors lit up, followed by the number five. The doors pulled open and the boys stepped out, looking around inquisitively. Directly in front of them was a sign indicating the locations of the different rooms. The arrow pointing left was labeled "Mountain View Suite". The short hallway was empty, but to their right they could hear someone nearby, and by the tone of the voice they could tell something was wrong.

Turning the corner, they saw a maid’s cart sitting alongside one wall. A short woman, dressed in a pale, pink uniform, was on one knee in front of a door, fumbling awkwardly as she mumbled in a worried rhubarb of Spanish. They approached the maid, who had stopped fumbling and slumped to both knees, almost sobbing.

"Whoa, what is causing you such distress, troubled cleaning woman?" Bill asked.

The woman looked up, startled, and began dabbing her eyes. "No. Please, is nothing."

"You’re certainly overwrought over nothing," Ted observed, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.

Once standing, the woman tried to compose herself in front of the small boys. "Gracias. No, see, I lock the passkey in this room and I cannot open the door."

"Heinous!" Bill sympathized. "Doesn’t the hotel manager have a key or something?"

The woman’s eyes opened wide with horror. "No, no! He must not know! This the third time, and if he finds out I do again he will fire me! Already I am so far behind on my rounds. I must get this door open!" Again she squatted, ignoring Bill and Ted as she fumbled with a hairpin, trying to undo the lock.

Bill and Ted exchanged glances before continuing down the hall, looking back at the poor woman as she worked feverishly.

"Bill, I feel sorry for her. I wish we could help."

"Yah, me too," Bill agreed. He then noticed a smaller hallway which opened to their right to allow the light from a window to reach the main corridor. Eyeing it, Bill stopped. "Wait, I got an idea. C’mon, Ted."

Walking to the window, Bill found it was slightly open already, and he pushed it farther, noticing a good sized ledge outside. Leaning out the window, he saw the ledge continued down the length of the building. "This might work," he reported, crawling carefully out of the window. In tune with Bill’s train of thought, Ted removed his backpack and followed his friend.

Sighing in defeat, the maid pulled the twisted hairpin from the lock and got to her feet, sniffing. She knew she would have to go downstairs and get the manager’s passkey, and she didn’t look forward to the man’s reaction. At the very least he would lecture her in front of the other employees, which was embarrassing enough, but she was more afraid of being fired.... something she simply couldn’t afford.

Dropping the hairpin into the garbage sack on her cart, she started toward the elevators when a rattling sound caught her ear. She turned, and much to her surprise the door of the room opened and Bill and Ted stepped out.

"Here you go," Bill said, offering her the keyring as she ran back to them.

"Oh gracias, gracias! I cannot thank you enough!"

"Hey, no problem," Ted assured her. "Just make sure you hang onto them from now on."

"Si! Si!"

Bill and Ted walked back to the window to gather the rucksack, then continued to explore the fifth floor as the maid hurriedly returned to her work.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The indoor pool area offered warm sanctuary from the somewhat cool mountain air outside, while the large glass windows allowed a perfect view of the nearby mountain range. The sun beamed through the skylights above, creating the perfect environment for pure relaxation.

Sinking into the lounge chair with his eyes closed, Bill began to think about how coming to wilderness survival camp with Ted was turning out much better than he’d thought it would. This was his idea of a week away from home; not hiking around in the forest with no record stores or convenience marts. He was glad that they had at least packed their swimtrunks . . . For a second he thought he felt rain, but that didn’t make any sense since they were indoors. Opening his eyes, Bill sat up and saw that Ted, who was in the lounge chair next to his, had also felt it. Simultaneously, they looked over their shoulders where they pinpointed the nozzles above that occasionally released a mist to cool off pool patrons.

"Not bad!" they agreed, lying back down to relax again.

The manager of the hotel was hurrying past the indoor pool on his way to the front desk, where he’d been summoned to deal with a potential guest complaining about a lost reservation. Glancing through the glass, he spotted the two boys and wondered for a moment who they were with. He didn’t remember anyone checking in with young boys. He made a mental note to check on it later.

The pool area was so tranquil it was impossible not to nod off. With the real world shut out by closed eyelids, Bill could actually picture himself at Waterloop, basking in the warm San Dimas sun. He could hear the soft lapping of the water, brought to life by an artificial wave machine . . . the splashing sounded so real. And he could almost smell the suntan lotion mixed with chlorine. The girls were sliding down the tubes.... could it be in slow motion?

"Oh yah," Bill sighed dreamily in his sleep.

Bill’s soft comment stirred Ted, and he sleepily opened his eyes, noting Bill’s smile with some amusement. He wished he could step into his friend’s head and check out what was so pleasant.

The sound of water splashing directed his attention to the pool, where he could make out a dark shape moving toward them, splashing slightly as it moved fluidly.

As the figure approached, Bill began to awaken, realizing the splashing sound wasn’t just in his dream. He opened his eyes just as the swimmer reached their end of the pool.

Inch by inch, a beautiful woman emerged from the bright, blue water, pushing her long, dark hair back from her face, which helped to accentuate the lines of her body underneath the tight-fitting, one piece bathing suit.

"Whoa!" Bill and Ted sighed quietly, mouth agape.

After rubbing the water from her eyes, the swimmer saw the two young boys sitting up and looking at her, not particularly noticing the stunned expressions of awe on their faces.

"Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you boys."

"S’okay," both Bill and Ted quickly assured her.

The woman’s warm smile melted them like butter. "Who are you?" Ted asked eagerly.

"My name is Melanie," she answered.

"Melanie . . . . " they repeated dumbfoundedly.

By this time, she had retrieved her towel from a nearby lounge chair and was bent over, rubbing her wet hair briskly. "And you are....?"

"I am Bill S. Preston, Esquire . . . . "

"And I’m Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan."

"You’re here with your parents?"

Bill and Ted eyed each other with concern. "Well, um . . . . " Ted began, fumbling.

"Our parents aren’t here . . . right now," Bill answered.

"Oh, they’re working?" Melanie asked.

"Yah, that’s right. They’re working," Ted replied.

"I’m here alone, too," Melanie offered sympathetically. "It’s kind of nice, though, to be away from everything for a while and on your own. Don’t you think?"

"Oh yah!" Bill and Ted answered.

Smiling, she turned from them and walked to a nearby lounge chair. Suddenly two blurs zipped by and headed her off, wheeling the chair closer so she wouldn’t have to walk as far.

"Here, let us!" Bill insisted, spreading a dry towel across the chair.

"Yah, you just relax," Ted told her, adjusting the chair to a reclining position.

"Well, thank you, boys!" She took the seat offered to her, not lying down right away.

"Can we get you anything?" Bill asked hopefully. "Another towel? A soda?"

"No, no, this is fine." She adjusted the towel before lying back into the chair, pulling her wet hair to the sides so it could dry. Once done, she closed her eyes to relax. After a moment, she squinted up through the bright sunlight with one eye to see that Bill and Ted were still standing over her, staring down with somewhat expectant expressions.

"Really, I’m fine. This is wonderful."

"Excellent," Ted smiled.

"Okay, well, just call on us if you need anything," Bill insisted, putting as much charm into his smile as was possible. "We are at your service."

They stood over Melanie for another awkward moment before realizing she really wasn’t going to ask for anything else. Slowly they backed away, nodding and smiling.

Tickled with their manners, Melanie felt she had to leave them with something more, so she sat up slightly and smiled. "You two are really quite the gentlemen. Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

With that, Melanie leaned back and turned her head the other way, not catching the motionless, stunned looks on Bill & Ted’s faces, which had simultaneously come over them. Slowly they turned around, making their way back to their deck chairs.

They sat in silence a moment, then looked at one another with the same wide-eyed expressions.

"Dude," Bill gasped softly. "I am about to utter words which I never thought I would hear myself say."

"What?"

Bill’s open mouth slowly turned up into a knowing smile. "I like wilderness survival camp!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

The afternoon sun was sinking behind the mountain, giving the impression that it was later in the day than it actually was. Bill & Ted had hung around the pool area for some time after Melanie had picked up her towel and bid them adieu. Now they were wandering around the hotel aimlessly.

Finally Bill stopped, stating what was obviously on both of their minds. "You got anything left to eat in your backpack?" Bill asked worriedly.

Ted thought about this question, then shook his head earnestly. "I believe we are still down to our last pudding cup, and you said we shouldn’t eat that until we’re totally out of viable options."

"Yah!" Bill sighed. "We should ration it carefully and be prepared for the worst. I fear that if things get too desperate, we may even be forced to lick the lid!"

"Bogus!" sighed Ted worriedly.

Bill turned the situation over in his mind. "If we were still at wilderness survival camp, they’d probably have us forage for food."

"How do we do that in a hotel?" Ted asked.

Bill began walking again, heading to the elevator. "I guess we just gotta look! They told us that sometimes food can be found in the most unexpected places!"

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and Bill and Ted stepped out. As they made their way down the corridor Bill noticed there were a number of dinner trays sitting outside various doors, obviously picked over and left for the maids to collect. It didn’t take them long to realize that people had left food on these trays, so slowly they worked their way up and down the corridor, sitting down to help themselves to whatever appetizing morsels they could find.

"Bill," Ted said with a flip of his bangs as they sat in front of room 409 and rummaged through some tempting fried chicken they found under the covered plate. "Is what we’re doing wrong?"

"The person in this room must not care much for fried chicken," Bill commented offhandedly, noting how much was left over. After picking up a wing and taking a bite he eyed his friend with delayed surprise. "What do you mean?"

Ted tilted his head, trying to think of how to put into words what he was feeling. "What we’re doing. I mean, staying at this hotel when we’re not paying for it. Eating people’s leftover food. Is it wrong?"

Bill nibbled on some french fries he’d found in a small basket on the tray and thought about it. "I dunno, Ted. But I guess, well . . . we’re surviving. That’s what we were sent up here to do."

Ted shook his head worriedly. "I don’t think this is what my dad had in mind," he pointed out.

Bill offered Ted an apparently untouched chicken leg then sat back against the wall, his eyebrows furrowed in thought as he licked his fingers. "I guess we’re freeloading, yeah. But it’s not like we’ll do this forever. I mean, we’ll only stay until the end of the week. And we’re not sleeping anywhere that anyone else would, so we’re not taking up a room. And we helped set the dishes this morning to pay for our breakfast. And this food, well . . . it would be just thrown away."

Ted nodded his head, realizing he was too hungry be moralistic at the moment. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe someday when we’re rich and famous we can come back and stay here with our band and not trash the place or something."

Bill nodded, looking around the tray for something else to eat. He moved a napkin to one side and was surprised when he saw what looked like a fancy ring that was partially covered by the edge of the plate. "Whoa, Ted! Look at this!" He lifted the ring for his friend to see.

"Whoa!" Ted said in awe. "That’s like the biggest rhinestone I’ve ever seen!"

Bill scowled at it with distaste. "It looks like something my mom would wear!"

"Do you think it’s a real diamond or something?" Ted asked in a soft voice.

"I dunno, Ted," Bill said. "But I do not think the lady who owns it meant to leave it as a tip."

"Maybe she did!" Ted suggested. "Maybe she’s a super rich lady and she’s got millions to burn and she wanted to do something nice for the maid or something!"

Bill eyed Ted skeptically. "A nice thought, Ted, but somehow I doubt it. I think she must have dropped it on the tray by mistake."

"Oh," Ted sighed. "The maid’s gonna be disappointed!"

Bill turned to look at the door behind him, then stood up and knocked. He waited a moment, then tried again. "Hello?" he called. When there was no answer he looked down at Ted. "I guess they’re not in."

"Maybe you can stick it under the door," Ted suggested.

Bill knelt down and tried to push the ring under the door. "No use, dude. It’s too big."

"Well, what’re we gonna do?" Ted asked. "Wait until they get back?"

"I dunno . . . maybe they have a lost and found or something."

"We could leave it at the front desk!" Ted suddenly realized.

Bill smiled widely. He was always amazed when Ted showed such clarity. "Good thinking, Ted! People are always leaving stuff for people at hotel desks! I’ve seen it on the late shows! Come on!"

They walked down the corridor and took the elevator to the lobby. As they entered the lobby they turned to approach the front desk, but Bill stopped Ted when he spotted the surly manager scolding the woman on duty there.

"Hold up, Ted," Bill cautioned. "I do not think that dude likes us very much."

"What’ll we do?" Ted asked.

Bill directed Ted to the side of the lobby where a table was set up with stationery, envelopes and pens for hotel guests to use. They stood beside the desk, trying to act nonchalant as the manager continued to point out how the clerk had once again hung the room keys on the wrong pegs.

Bill looked at the stationery and motioned to Ted. "I got an idea, dude," he said. He reached over and took one of the envelopes and a pen. "What was the room number where we found the ring, dude?"

"409 . . . " Ted answered after a little thought. "Like the cleaning product."

Bill wrote the numbers "409" down in big letters on the envelope, then took the ring and placed it inside and sealed it. "We’ll give this to the clerk when the manager-dude’s done yelling at her."

"Excellent!" Ted said. "It is just like in the late show!"

"Yeah. Except everything’s not black and white," Bill pointed out.

"True," Ted agreed. "Bill, I wonder what it was like when the world didn’t have any color."

Bill looked at his friend incredulously. "Ted, you bonehead. They had color, it just wasn’t patented yet."

"Oh," Ted said, thinking. "So who patented color?"

"Kodak or somebody. Then people could film in color but only if they paid Kodak to do so. That’s why some old movies are in color and some are in black and white!"

"Whoa, Bill, you’re one smart dude!" Ted smiled.

"Just be more careful about what you’re doing!" the manager finished with a flourish before storming off to his office.

"Come on, dude," Bill suggested. "Now’s our chance."

They walked up to the front desk where the woman was reorganizing the room keys. Even with her back turned to them they could tell she was still upset about having been scolded.

"Excuse us, front desk babe," Bill said gently, although he still managed to startle the young woman.

"Oh! Um, yes, what can I do for you boys?" she asked.

"We have something we need to leave for someone in room 409," Bill said, reaching up to hand the envelope to her.

"Oh, okay," the woman said, taking the envelope. "I’ll put it up here for them, all right?"

"Sure, thanks!" Ted smiled, and he and Bill walked away as the woman turned and shoved the envelope into one of the cubbyholes next to the room key display.

"I’ll bet the lady will be glad to get her ring back!" Ted said as they headed back upstairs to look for more food.

"It’s the least we could do, seeing she left us some good fried chicken for dinner!" Bill agreed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The smell of hotcakes once again beckoned to Bill as he lifted his head. He rubbed his face, feeling the indentations which the folds of Ted’s shirt had pressed into his cheek. Ted’s stomach wasn’t the best pillow in the world, but it was more comfortable than even his best suit.

"Ted, dude, wake up! Breakfast time!"

"Pop tarts?" Ted sat up, his hair falling over his face. He sighed when he remember where they were. "Oh yeah . . . muffins and hot cakes again, dude?"

"Sure, it’s better than eating leftovers," Bill pointed out, helping Ted to his feet.

"Whoa!" Ted moaned, taking a moment to stretch and reacquaint himself with his muscles. "I think I must have been lying on the Mr. Microphone in my backpack," he moaned, rubbing his ear. "I kept dreaming I was getting my ear checked at the doctor’s office."

"C’mon, Ted!" Bill urged, heading for the door. "I am most supremely hungry!"

They headed downstairs and reached the dining room to find it in much the same state as the day before.

"We’re in luck, Ted! They have not yet set the tables again!"

"Let’s hurry up and finish, dude," Ted said. "I can’t wait to go swimming again!"

"We’ve got to wait one hour anyway," Bill reminded him, and they set to work placing the settings at each seat of the many tables in the room.

In the kitchen the head waiter was speaking with the chef while his subordinate waiter stood to the side, looking irritated.

"You mean he actually set the places?" the chef laughed, shaking his head.

"I swear, I didn’t do it!" the waiter moaned.

"Well, I didn’t do it!" the head waiter laughed. "And it took him forever to get everything put back in time before we opened."

The waiter was getting more aggravated. "Come on, have you got the fruit salad ready to go out yet?"

"It’s just about ready," the chef said. "Why don’t you get the milks out of the refrigerator instead of just standing there whining?"

"Or you could go set the tables again!" the head waiter laughed.

The waiter happily retrieved the small cartons of milk from the large refrigerator and arranged them in a large bowl of ice. By that time the chef had finished the fruit salad bowl and the head waiter picked it up and moved to follow the waiter into the dining room.

As they entered the dining room the waiter came to such an abrupt halt the head waiter came close to dropping the fruit salad as he stopped short to keep from running into the back of him.

"What is wrong with you?" the head waiter snarled.

"It happened again!" the waiter cried in exasperation.

The head waiter realized the waiter was right . . . all the places had been set.

"What on earth are you trying to pull?" the head waiter yelled.

"It wasn’t me! You saw it yourself . . . it wasn’t like this when we went into the kitchen! And you were in there with me the entire time! It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes!"

The head waiter thought about this and then began to shake. "Then . . . just what is going on around here??"

"You don’t suppose it’s . . . ghosts!" the waiter said in a tiny voice. "I’ve heard tales that this hotel is haunted!"

"I don’t know what to think!" the head waiter whispered, "but we’re going to get to the bottom of this mystery! I have an idea . . . . "

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ted rubbed his hand through his still-damp hair, letting the light breeze dry it as they walked. The road ahead had only light traffic and they were able to scurry across the two lane highway to the other side where the antique mall beckoned.

The building looked bigger on the inside than it had on the outside, mostly because there were far more rooms hidden behind the rustic cabin facade than they would have guessed. Ted handed his bag to the elderly woman at the front and they picked their way through the narrow aisles to an adjacent room filled with fascinating items; lit curios with small, ornate decorations and glasses, shelves lined with old, dusty books, immaculate furniture sharing floor space with shoddy furnishings and old well-loved dolls and stuffed animals. Every inch of space seemed to be occupied . . . the walls were taken up with paintings, clocks and housewares hanging from hooks and collectibles even hung from the ceilings, everything from chandeliers to scooters to farm tools.

"Whoa, Bill . . . they have everything here!" Ted said softly. "I wish we had some money."

"We have one of those in my garage," Bill noted, pointing to a cuckoo clock hanging on the wall. I wonder if it’s worth anything."

"I like it when it your clock cuckoos," Ted smiled. "Oh wow, look at this old guitar!"

"Whoa," Bill smiled, picking up the acoustic guitar. "Now this I wish we had in my garage!"

"I wanna get an electric guitar, though," Ted said. "A Gibson or a Fender."

"I don’t think they have any of those here," Bill sighed, setting the instrument back down. "And if they do, we certainly couldn’t afford one."

They continued to make their way through the antique mall, surprised at how it was seemingly never-ending. They didn’t even realize they had made a full circle until they entered the last room next to the front hallway where the counter and cash register were. Bill stopped and then pulled Ted back when he saw Melanie speaking to the elderly woman, who was on the phone.

"Dude, what’s wrong?" Ted asked worriedly.

"Melanie’s here!" Bill said in a whisper, pointing to the front counter.

"Whoa, she is?" Ted asked excitedly, straining to lean around the corner of the door to see her.

They listened as Melanie waited for the woman to finish with a phone call. They could see she had a small figurine of a cat sitting on the counter in front of her.

The elderly woman hung up the phone, shaking her head. "I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid the price is firm. Eighty-five dollars."

Melanie looked at the small cat again, obviously debating about the price in her mind. "I do love it," she sighed, "but I’m afraid I don’t have that much money with me. Oh well . . . . " She set the cat back on the counter and sighed. "Maybe next time!"

"I’m sorry," the woman said sincerely.

"Thank you anyway! Have a nice day!" Melanie walked out into the sunlight and headed back to the hotel.

Bill and Ted ducked back into the room and tried to act nonchalant as the elderly woman entered. She placed the cat back on a shelf and then looked at Bill and Ted. "Finding anything interesting, boys?" she asked in a friendly manner.

"Everything’s interesting!" Bill said honestly. "Is it okay if we just keep looking around?"

"Take your time," the woman said, then went back to the front counter.

Bill and Ted approached the shelf and eyed the small cat. "I sure wish we could buy that for her," Bill sighed.

"I know," Ted agreed. "But we don’t got any money, and we certainly don’t have fifty dollars!"

Bill nodded sadly. "Yeah, you’re right, dude." He looked around and realized they hadn’t explored another room on the other side of them. "Let’s check out what’s in here!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

The dark garden surrounding the winding smooth pebbled path suddenly flickered to life in a myriad of colors, lighting their way. They excitedly followed the unfamiliar path to a small footbridge, stopping at the top of its arc to look down into the lit water filled with large, orange and white fish.

Ted lowered the rucksack to dangle at his side as he gazed into the water below. "Whoa, Bill . . . it’s like there’s no end to this hotel!"

"Truer words were never spoken, Ted. Every day seems to hold a new experience, another aspect of life to be explored."

"Bill! That sounds like what the brochure for the wilderness survival camp, dude!"

Bill nodded in approval. "At least our parents are getting what they paid for."

They watched the fish swimming for a moment and then Ted looked down the path to see where they were headed. "Whoa, Bill, what’s that?" he asked, motioning to the ornate doorway where the path apparently ended.

"Let’s check it out." Bill led the way off the small bridge and the two approached the dark cherry-wood doorway, stopping to eye the golden circular designs before locating a small lit window which housed an unfolded menu.

"It’s a Japanese restaurant, Ted," Bill pointed out, craning his neck to look inside the doorway, only spotting an empty host’s podium. "Smells good, too."

"Wish we had enough money to partake in their most appetizing-sounding cuisine," Ted sighed, hungrily eyeing the menu. "But alas and unfortunately their prices are way beyond our means. Hey, d’ya think we could at least take a look inside while we’re here?"

Bill shrugged. "I don’t see why not. If they ask us to leave, then we leave."

Bill led the way through the door as the hostess returned to the podium, pausing a moment to mark something down in the book there. Bill & Ted immediately turned to the wall, busying themselves by looking at Japanese scrolls and artifacts in an attempt not to draw attention. But they could both feel the hostess’ eyes rise from the book and look toward the doorway. As she drew in a sudden breath to speak they braced themselves for the inevitable question of "What are you two doing in here?" to be thrown their direction.

Instead they heard her voice project in the opposite direction from them, as she somewhat quietly announced to the nearest staff, "He’s coming!"

The two young boys glanced at each other in confusion, but their puzzlement was soon abated when a man stepped through the entrance of the restaurant. All at once it seemed as if half the staff had emerged from their regular workstations to be at hand so that anything this man might want could be addressed immediately.

"Good to see you, Mr. Jones," the hostess said in her smoothest and friendliest voice. "Your table is ready."

At the sound of the familiar name, Bill & Ted threw a quick glance over their shoulders and caught sight of the man has he walked across the restaurant to a exclusive booth near the back. This was the first chance they’d had to lay eyes on this mysterious person. They were excited to see exactly what such a wealthy and important man looked like. They didn’t get a terrific look at him, but they could see he was wearing a sharp, gray business suit, his blonde hair was cut in a short, neat haircut and he walked with the poise of a well-respected individual.

"So that’s THE Mr. Jones," Bill said to Ted quietly. "I wonder who he is."

Ted lowered his head in thought, then raised it suddenly. "Maybe he’s that dude who owns the stock exchange."

Bill gave him a puzzled look. "What dude?"

"You know! Mr. Dow Jones."

Bill’s eyebrows unknit and he smiled, slapping Ted’s arm lightly. "Oh yeah! I bet that’s who it is!"

"Whoa, Bill . . . he must be rich!"

"Totally."

The excitement died down in the foray as the hostess led the man around a corner and most of the people who had gathered to get a peek at the wealthy man either moved to a new position where they could watch him sit down or went back to doing their jobs.

Bill and Ted took advantage of the fact the waiting area was now empty to step forward and glance around the restaurant. It was dimly lit, but they could make out the dark oriental decorations in mainly red and black schemes. They could see the hostess had seated Mr. Jones in a very secluded corner, on the opposite side of the establishment from where a large group of Japanese businessmen busily ate and discussed their important corporate matters. Only a few other patrons dotted the restaurant, all eating quietly or studying menus.

They were so involved in studying their surroundings, they didn’t see the hostess return to her podium. "May I help you boys?" she asked nicely but seriously.

Bill and Ted wheeled to face her, looking like they had been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. "Oh, um. We were just . . . " Ted started, searching his mind for something, anything, to say.

"Are you waiting for someone?" asked the hostess.

"Well . . . yeah, okay," Bill stammered. "But they’re not here. Maybe we should wait outside, huh, Ted?"

"Excellent idea!" said Ted, grateful for his friend’s quick-thinking mind.

The hostess just shrugged as the two boys turned and headed for the door. Just as Bill was about to reach for it, it swung open and Bill and Ted took a surprised step back as Melanie entered the restaurant.

"Well, hello again, boys!" she said with a genuine smile.

Bill and Ted stood together with wide eyes as they chirped in together, "Hello, Ms. . . . Ms. . . . . "

"It’s Melanie," she laughed. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah, we remember!" Bill piped up immediately. "How could we forget?" he thought to himself.

"It’s good to see you two again. Are you having dinner here tonight with your folks?"

"Oh um . . . " Ted started, but again found himself at a loss for words. He looked hopefully to Bill.

"Naw, we just came in to check out the place," Bill said, feeling he could be at least this honest with her. "Our parents are still . . . working."

"Oh, I see," said Melanie. "Well, I’ll see you later then."

She walked past them toward the hostess’ stand but then stopped. She turned to see Bill and Ted hadn’t moved from their places; they had only wheeled to watch her pass. Smiling even more prettily, she straightened and addressed them directly. "Would you boys do me a favor?"

Bill and Ted lurched forward eagerly and came to a stop right in front of her. "Anything!" they chorused excitedly.

She looked a little shy. "I hate to eat alone. Would you mind very much having dinner with me?"

"Here?" Bill asked in disbelief.

"With you?" Ted asked in awe.

"Well, of course!" she laughed, then stopped and looked concerned. "Do you not like Japanese food?"

"On the contrary!" Ted said emphatically, trying desperately to think of anything he had ever heard about Japanese cuisine. "We think raw fish is most excellent!"

Melanie laughed at his enthusiasm. "Then you will eat with me?"

Bill turned to Ted and without words they debated it with each other. Each came to the same conclusion. "We’d be honored!"

"Good!" smiled Melanie, and she turned to the hostess. "That will be three for dinner then."

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Say, you know your way around chopsticks pretty well!" Melanie commented with respect.

Bill and Ted enjoyed the praise and smiled. "Yeah, well, Bill’s folks get a lot of Chinese take-out. His mom doesn’t cook much."

"She doesn’t cook at all," Bill grumbled under his breath, then shook off this brief moment of irritation and examined what was on his plate again. They had already tried a few things that looked semi-familiar to them, but were now interested in the things they had never seen before. Bill motioned to a small pile of green paste on the side of his plate. Ted likewise began studying the strange mush. "What’s this?" Bill asked, as he and Ted scooped it up with their chopsticks.

"That’s wasabi," Melanie answered, then finished chewing her mouthful of food. "Be careful . . . it’s very hot."

She saw her warning came just a second too late, as both boys had popped the wasabi into their mouths. Bill’s lips tightened and his eyes opened wide in surprise, his brain only now registering Melanie’s belated warning. He swallowed as quickly as he could, but the burning only went down his throat and he gasped for air.

"Oh dear," sighed Melanie, trying not to laugh despite herself. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Bill croaked in a not too convincing manner. He grabbed for his water glass and downed it in a moment.

"Miss?" Melanie called to the waitress over her shoulder. "We’re going to need some more water over here."

Bill set down his glass and physically shook, ending with a loud, "Brrrrrr! Woo! That was something!"

"Yah!" Ted agreed calmly. "It was a little on the hot side."

Bill and Melanie stared at him in disbelief. He had hardly reacted to the wasabi at all.

"You must have a cast iron tongue," Melanie laughed.

"After my Aunt Dody’s tacos, nothing phases me," Ted answered honestly.

Bill waved his hand in front of his open mouth and rolled his eyes with a nod of his head. He’d heard about Aunt Dody’s infamous tacos on more than one occasion.

They continued eating their dinner and talking about everything under the sun. As the evening wore on, Bill and Ted became more and more enamored of their beautiful dinner companion.

"Thank you," Melanie said to the waitress, who had brought over the bill.

Bill and Ted gave each other guilty glances. They felt funny having the woman pay for the meal, especially on their "first date". Even though he didn’t have any money, Bill felt it was only gentlemanly to say something. "We sure appreciate your inviting us to dinner. Can’t we help pay at all?"

"This one is on me," Melanie assured them. "It was nice of you to agree to have dinner with me. Consider it a present."

"A present?" Ted asked, confused.

"Why yes," Melanie smiled, "Otherwise I would have had to eat my birthday dinner alone."

Bill and Ted’s eyes opened wide. "It’s you’re birthday today??" they gasped.

Melanie nodded with another pretty smile.

"Happy birthday!" Bill and Ted wished her sincerely.

She laughed again. "Why thank you!"

Bill pushed himself away from the table and tapped Ted’s shoulder. "Dude, c’mere. Would you excuse us a moment, please?" he asked Melanie.

"Certainly," she said, as Ted retrieved his rucksack from the floor and followed Bill away from the table.

"Ted, we cannot let Melanie’s birthday go by without doing something special," Bill insisted.

"You’re right, Bill. Especially not after she bought as that most delicious dinner and everything. But what can we do? We got no money to buy a present or anything."

Bill knit his eyebrows and thought for a moment. Finally he snapped his fingers. "I’ve got it Ted! Give me your rucksack."

Ted handed it over and Bill unzipped it and started rummaging around inside for something. "What have you got in mind?"

"You’ll see! First we gotta find out where this egregious Japanese elevator music is coming from." Bill turned to Melanie. "We’ll just be a moment. Now wait right there!"

She nodded as they hurried away from the table. Once they were away from the table, Bill retrieved the audio tape he was looking for from the rucksack and handed it to Ted. "Here it is!"

Ted glanced at the tape and nodded, then saw what else Bill was pulling out of his bag, and immediately he knew exactly what Ted had in mind. "Got it!" he confirmed excitedly, and ran off to find the restaurant’s stereo system.

Melanie waited patiently at the table, smiling to herself. She knew they were planning to do something special for her, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what two young boys could come up with on the spur of the moment. She half expected the waiters to come out with a candle in a dish of green tea ice cream. As she wondered, the barely noticeable music that was playing throughout the restaurant cut out suddenly. She had just dismissed this from her mind when there came a cacophony of sounds, which seemed like a mixture of snippets from various rock songs, interspersed with the most horrific squealing imaginable. Everyone in the restaurant looked quite annoyed, and the employees looked genuinely perplexed.

These noises suddenly came to a stop, but there was the sound of something playing . . . faint scratches could be heard like an old phonograph record was either about to begin or had come to its end. A moment later the restaurant was filled with a heavy and familiar drum riff and guitar strains that completely contrasted the atmosphere of the place.

Confusion permeated the air as this rock tune blared, drowning out all conversation, which had mostly turned to phrases like, "What is going on?" Suddenly Bill and Ted leaped out from the back, Bill holding the Mr. Microphone in his hand, and Ted holding the small, portable radio. The raucous music was compounded tenfold when Bill and Ted both started singing as loud as they could into the microphone, their crackling voices blasting from the radio.

"You say it’s your birthday? It’s my birthday, too, yeah! . . . ."

Melanie let out a squeal of glee and laughed heartily as the boys bounced all around the restaurant, singing and air guitaring to the Beatles classic. The employees stood by, too stunned to react. The Japanese businessmen were all watching the scene with their mouths hanging open. Mr. Jones sat silently in the corner, a slight smile crossing his face at the proceedings.

The manager of the hotel had stepped outside and took a deep breath. He looked back at his building, standing proudly like a king surveying his domain. All was right with the world.

Suddenly a horrible rock song blasted from somewhere in the vicinity. He looked around, annoyed. "Darn kids playing their car radios too loud!" he grumbled angrily, but then he realized the music was coming from somewhere within the hotel. After a moment of searching, he pinpointed its source as being the Japanese restaurant. Shocked, and unable to imagine what was happening, he ran down the pebbled path.

"Birthday! I would like you to dance! Birthday! Take a ch - ch - ch -chance . . . . "

Bill and Ted’s enthusiasm hadn’t waned as the song progressed. If anything, they were getting more energetic, bouncing around the tables and hopping onto chairs to sing to not only Melanie but to other patrons, trying to encourage them to join in. Melanie was already singing along, although she remained seated at her table watching the fun and clapping her hands.

The manager burst into the restaurant and rushed forward, taking in the scene in front of him. "What is going on here?" he demanded angrily.

Bill heard the familiar voice and spotted the manager standing across from them. He nudged Ted and pointed the man out worriedly. Ted heeded his friend’s warning and reached for his rucksack, which was sitting against a wall.

When the manager realized it was those same two boys at the bottom of this disturbance, he lunged forward, but the dudes had anticipated this action and had darted in opposite directions, leading the man on a chase as they continued to sing, although somewhat haphazardly.

"Happy birthday, Melanie!" Bill called to her as he ran by her table and headed for the front door.

"Totally! And thanks for dinner!" Ted added as he dashed by on the other side, also heading for the door.

The manager had gotten tangled in some chairs as he’d tried to run around a table, and soon he realized the boys were well out the door and there was no way he’d catch up to them. Angrily, he yelled at a waiter to turn off that infernal music.

The waiter stood in a daze, so the manager stormed by him and stomped to the stereo system, angrily pushing the stop button and ejecting the audio tape. He pulled it from the machine and held it tightly in his hands. "Those darn kids! If I ever get my hands on them, I’ll . . . !" He tried breaking the tape with his bare hands, but found it more difficult to actually do than to imagine.

"May I have that?" a soft voice behind him suddenly asked.

The manager wheeled in surprise and gawked for a moment, wondering about this request and almost blurting out his confusion over it. Thinking again, he just handed the tape over, saying, "Certainly, Mr. Jones. If you would like it . . . . "

"Thank you," Mr. Jones smiled, taking the cassette and walking out of the restaurant.

The manager stood in complete confusion, then he remembered his anger. They had caused him real problems this time. How could he explain what had happened to the patrons? As he walked out from the back his eyes fell upon the group of Japanese businessmen and he blanched. He couldn’t lose their business! He walked up to the group, trying to form a suitable explanation in his mind in those few steps.

One of the businessmen looked up at the manager and pointed at him. "This! What just happened here . . . . "

"I know," the manager began, "and I’m very very sorry. You see . . . . "

"Where you get this idea? What kind entertainment this?"

"Entertainment?" the manager asked, not believing his ears.

"Very unique! Very different!"

The other businessmen nodded, smiling.

"Oh well, thank you!" the manager sighed with relief, then realized he would have to explain why it wasn’t a regular feature in case the men came back later in the week. "We only do it one day a week, though."

The Japanese businessmen nodded, then went back to talking amongst themselves. As the manager walked away, he could hear one of the men saying, "This could be very popular in Japan!" The manager was grateful the situation had worked out okay and that no one was angry with him.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Bill and Ted slowly entered the hotel lobby through the back door, making their way to the stairway leading upstairs. Both were in a semi-state of bliss, having quickly forgotten the manager’s anger and only remembering the joy of the evening.

"That was one most unprecedented evening," Bill voiced their thoughts aloud.

"Most definitely," Ted agreed, then zipped up his still unzipped rucksack with a sad sigh. "Although I do regret losing that tape. It had all my favorite stuff on it . . . ‘Stairway to Heaven’, Pink Floyd, ‘Space Oddity’ . . . . "

"Don’t worry ‘bout it, Ted," Bill assured his friend as they started up the stairs to the second floor. "You can always tape all those songs off again. But how often can two dudes have such a memorable evening with someone so special?"

"She’s so nice," Ted sighed dreamily.

"And smart," Bill added.

"And a total babe," Ted smiled.

"Totally," Bill agreed, then stopped as they reached the top of the stairs. A sudden thought had just entered his mind, and already it bothered him greatly. "You know, dude . . . it’s not really right."

"Oh, I know. We really shoulda paid for dinner, but we didn’t have any money," Ted explained matter-of-factly.

"Not that, Ted," Bill said, then hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with expressing his thoughts.

Ted noted the seriousness of his friend’s expression and became concerned. "What’s the matter, Bill?"

Bill took a breath and looked up at his friend with a worldly expression he assumed when explaining something he wasn’t sure his friend would be able to grasp thoroughly. "Well, it isn’t right to expect a woman to spread her affections around, Ted." Ted just stared at Bill blankly, so Bill continued. "What I mean is . . . she can’t date two dudes at once. It’s just not . . . done."

Ted’s glance moved slightly away as he thought about this. "Oh . . . " he finally sighed, comprehension beginning to dawn on him. "You mean . . . ?"

Bill nodded seriously. "It’s gotta be one or the other of us."

Ted swung his head back and dropped the rucksack to his side, thinking this over as best he could. "But how do we decide who gets her?"

Bill rolled his eyes at his friend’s naivety. "We don’t choose! It’s up to her. She’s gotta choose between us. And undoubtedly she will."

With a nod, Ted seemed satisfied. "Okay, well, then she’ll let us know which of us she wants and that’ll be that!"

Bill sighed in a somewhat aggravated fashion. He was already aware of Melanie’s likely choice. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that Ted should have the looks and not know what to do with it. He didn’t want to feel jealous of his friend, but at the same time he’d had such longings the past few months. Just once he wanted to think he had a chance to be the ladies’ man.

"You know, maybe it’s better if she picks me," Bill heard himself say.

"Why’s that?" Ted asked innocently.

"Oh well, Ted . . . let’s face it . . . you’re not exactly . . . uh . . . experienced in this kind of thing. An older woman to start out with might be a bit . . . uh . . . much. You know?"

Ted tried to understand what Bill meant, but he couldn’t grasp it. "You’re no more experienced than I am!" he pointed out.

"Look, Ted, I’m only looking out for your best interests here," Bill insisted, trying to convince himself of it, too. "I don’t want to see you get hurt!"

Ted was giving him a strange look. "Wait a minute . . . you just wanna talk me out of the running!"

"No, no!" Bill cried, knowing full well that was exactly what he had been doing but not wanting to admit it.

"I think I have just as much of a chance with Melanie as you do!" Ted added.

"Look, I wasn’t saying that!" Bill cried, his voice raising unusually high. "Oh man, you just don’t understand!"

"No, I don’t understand!" Ted cried. "You’re my best friend and you’re trying to cut me out!"

"Well, maybe I was trying to cut you out for your own good!" Bill yelled, getting more and more frustrated. "Maybe I know what’s better for you than you do!"

Ted stood looking shocked. Bill had talked down to him before, but never so harshly. Somehow he knew he had to stand up to Bill this time. "Maybe you don’t, though! What if that’s the case, huh?"

"You just don’t get it! Geez, Ted, you can be such an airhead sometimes!" Bill yelled angrily.

"Yeah, well, dude . . . you are just totally too much like your temper! Short!"

Bill wasn’t sure what came over him in that next moment, but that statement cut him to the quick and he reacted purely out of emotional instinct. He struck out angrily with a semi-curved hand, catching the side of Ted’s face in a sharp blow. The second he’d done it, he regretted it.

Ted stood, staring at Bill in disbelief, and Bill stared back in shock. At the same moment they realized the horrifying truth . . . they were fighting! For the first time in their lives they were actually fighting! This more than the blow made tears well in Ted’s eyes.

Bill wanted so much to apologize, to take back what he’d done and said, but the look on Ted’s face made him feel so horrible he couldn’t find the words to say. Instead he turned and ran down the stairs, not wanting to have to deal with what had happened.

Ted stood, watching Bill run away and not knowing what to do. Sadly, he sat down on the top step of the stairway and sighed, wishing he’d never said such a terrible thing to Bill. He knew Bill was dealing with frustrations at home and going through a difficult time . . . he should have just kept quiet and not challenged him.

Bill ran blindly into the darkened lounge, the first place he could find that would take him out of Ted’s sight. He made his way past a couple of empty tables then stopped, grabbing the back of a vinyl covered chair to steady himself. He felt sick to his stomach. How could he have let his longings dictate his actions? How could he have struck the best friend he’d ever had?

Wiping his forehead, Bill turned to lean against the chair, finally taking in his surroundings. The gentle piano music was in such contrast to what he was feeling. He hoped no one was looking at him, that he hadn’t caused a scene. But the lounge was empty except for one couple that were leaving a booth in the corner and exiting through the back door to a corridor which led to another wing of the hotel.

Bill pulled the chair he had been leaning against away from the table and sat down roughly, wishing he could turn back time somehow and make everything all right.

"That’s stupid," he quickly scolded himself silently. "People can’t travel through time . . . . "

"You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, my friend."

The voice was strangely gentle even though it was amplified . . . it almost sounded as if it were from another world . . . another dimension. Bill looked up, startled, and realized the older man had spoken through a microphone he had attached to the shiny grand piano in front of him. He continued playing a soft melody as he eyed Bill sympathetically.

"Do you need a friend?" the man asked.

A moment ago Bill wouldn’t have felt like talking to anyone, but this man seemed so genuinely concerned he found himself getting up and walking toward him slowly. "I had a friend . . . . "

The man nodded. "You’re lucky . . . friends can be hard to come by."

Bill stopped a few feet from the piano and looked down at his shoes. "I don’t think he’ll be my friend any more . . . not after what I did."

The man stopped playing and turned to Bill seriously. "I’m sure he’ll forgive you . . . if you’re sorry for something you did."

Bill shook his head, not looking up. "I totally blew it, dude. He’ll never speak to me again. And I wouldn’t blame him."

The man turned back to the piano. "It couldn’t hurt to try an apology anyway. At least then you’ll know you did the right thing."

"How can I apologize?" Bill asked, looking up with tears in his eyes. "I can’t even look him in the face!"

The man smiled in a knowing manner which made him look wise. "There’s more than one way to apologize."

Bill shook his head, still unsure.

The piano player motioned to the bar. "I think my young friend here could use a drink."

The bartender nodded.

"A beer, please!" Bill tried hopefully.

"Um, better make that a cola," the piano player suggested.

"On the rocks!" Bill added, trying to sound adult, then added, "Oh, and do you have any of those little umbrellas?"

"I’ll see what I can do," the bartender smiled.

Bill stepped closer to the piano as the man picked out a few notes. "Does your friend like music?"

"Most definitely," Bill confirmed. "We’re gonna start a band . . . at least, we were."

"Maybe you can tell him how you feel in a song, then."

Bill tilted his head, thinking about it. "Yeah . . . maybe so . . . . " The bartender approached with a tall glass of cola, a tiny paper umbrella adorning the edge of the glass. Bill reached into his pocket, realizing as he did so that he didn’t have any money, but the bartender lifted his hand to stop him.

"This one’s on the house," he winked, then turned to walk back to the bar.

"Thanks," Bill said after him, then sipped the cola for a moment while thinking. "A song, huh?" He took an extra long sip, then gasped, clutching his head from the brain freeze that occurred. "Do you know any songs by Queen?"

"Queen’s not as good on just the piano," the man sighed, then stood up slightly and reached behind him to open the bench he was sitting on. "You can pick out one of the songs in here. I can play most of them by heart."

Bill took out the sheets of music and began thumbing through them, smirking as he went. "Most of these are songs my parents would listen to."

"There must be something there that would be appropriate," the player piano said. "A lot of those classics say a lot."

Bill had stopped on one piece of music, eyeing it with interest. He read through the lyrics, then turned it over. Finally he handed it to the piano player. "This is really old, but it’s kind of what I wanna say."

The man eyed the selection and smiled. "A most excellent choice, I would say," he nodded, and placed the music in front of him while Bill took the microphone from its holder.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Ted was sitting at the top of the stairs, still too stunned to have moved. He wiped his eyes and slowly stretched his legs, moaning as he did so. He wanted to go after Bill, but then he wasn’t sure Bill wanted to be with him any more. He wished more than anything he hadn’t said what he did . . . he wasn’t even mad that Bill had hit him. He probably deserved it . . . after all what he’d said had been pretty harsh.

Maybe if he found Bill and apologized everything would be okay again. He wasn’t even sure where Bill had gone . . . he’d lost sight of him as he’d run toward the bar.

The piano in the lounge began playing, louder than it had before. The opening notes were immediately familiar, but he didn’t think about it very long. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to any music at that point.

As the music reached the end of the introduction he expected it to continue instrumentally, but he was startled when a voice cut in, overtaking the piano in volume and intensity. The voice was the exact opposite of what one might expect from a lounge singer . . . it was high and scratchy, stretching to reach the higher notes but sincere nonetheless. Ted sat, listening with surprise at the familiar voice as it sang in earnest.

Slowly Ted got to his feet. He stood for a moment, listening. Finally he reached down to pick up his rucksack by the strap and sl