Chapter 1: The Genie’s Mishap

When the genie inquired about my historical lunch companion, I corrected him, saying it was "whom," not "who." He seemed a bit flustered, but quickly moved on. When he asked me again, I found myself questioning why I wasn't being granted three unrestricted wishes. He clarified that he was not the Aladdin genie but rather Gene, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at his name.

“Gene the Genie?” I repeated, amused.

“Yes, not the best name, but my parents had a unique sense of humor,” he explained with a hint of embarrassment.

“Surely, you could have changed it by now,” I suggested.

He mumbled something about red tape before insisting he had other places to be. In a moment of panic, I blurted out, “Isaac Newton, I suppose?”

Immediately, I regretted my choice.

Out of nowhere, I found myself at a booth in Panera Bread in Voorhees, New Jersey. I was surrounded by other solitary diners, each with their laptops, seemingly uninterested in social interaction. As I awaited an unusual guest, I kept my eyes on the entrance.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I was greeted by a cheerful young boy, probably no older than twelve, who smiled as if we were old friends.

“Are you—” I began.

“Indeed,” he interrupted.

“There's been a mistake,” I protested.

“I don't think so,” he replied confidently.

I called for Gene, and to my shock, a cup of coffee appeared with his face drawn in the foam. “Is this a joke?” I exclaimed.

“Joke?” Gene echoed, bemused.

“He's just a kid!” I exclaimed.

“You didn’t specify age. That’s your oversight,” he retorted.

“Seriously?” I complained.

“Fine,” Gene said, and in an instant, the boy vanished, replaced by an elderly gentleman with a white wig and frilly attire—exactly how one might picture Isaac Newton.

“I can't believe it's really you,” I stammered.

“Believe it,” he replied tersely, resembling the persona I had read about. Before I could ask anything further, he demanded, “Who does one need to blow around here for a menu?”

Taken aback, I explained that menus were no longer printed. Instead, one could order from the boards overhead or use a phone for assistance.

He grabbed my phone and began examining it. “How does this contraption operate?” he inquired. I could feel sweat forming as I realized he would be the one asking questions.

Calling for Gene again yielded no results. I carelessly poured in cream and sugar, ruining my coffee in the process.

“Well?” Newton pressed, his condescension palpable.

“I must admit, I have no clue how it works,” I confessed.

“None whatsoever?” he asked incredulously.

“Um, no, not at all. My apologies,” I replied.

His response was a series of expletives from the seventeenth century that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush. I struggled to understand him, as his accent combined with archaic references made his speech nearly indecipherable.

“Just order two of what you’re having, and it better not be some wretched slop unfit for a pig,” he barked, his demeanor more pirate than scholar.

At that moment, I wondered if I was responsible for the bill. It didn't seem right that I should pay for both of us, especially since I had a gluten allergy I would have mentioned to Gene had I the chance. My mood began to sour.

I told Isaac I wasn't hungry and had no intention of ordering anything. This only irritated him more, leading to a tirade of insults referencing Galileo and his famous telescope, and how I would fare on a voyage with Magellan.

His frequent jabs about sodomy made me think he was overreacting, but he insisted such remarks were commonplace in his time.

Eventually, I caved and ordered him a ham and cheese panini along with a Sprite Zero. He took a bite and remarked how it reminded him of a peculiar dish from a neighbor’s gathering, but he seemed satisfied nonetheless.

To ease the tension, I asked, “So, what’s on your mind?”

He began explaining Calculus, and I was instantly transported back to my ninth-grade math class, where I had once joined drama club just to escape early.

Isaac must have noticed my eyes glazing over, but I couldn’t help but be distracted by a chunk of melted cheese stuck in the corner of his mouth. I gestured subtly, but he remained oblivious.

Fortunately, he was accustomed to disinterested listeners, so he shifted his focus to his sandwich while I scrambled for conversation topics. This was my one shot with one of history's greatest minds, and I felt woefully unprepared.

As patrons began to notice our odd pairing, one woman approached us hesitantly.

“I’m sorry, but are you—”

“I am,” Isaac interjected.

“You look just like him! Are you filming a movie or something?” she asked.

“Madam, I know nothing of what you speak. Kindly leave me be!” he snapped, and she retreated.

Time passed, and I began to wonder how long this peculiar encounter would last. I think we both would have been fine with just disappearing.

Isaac excused himself to find the restroom. I suggested I accompany him, but he snapped, “I’ll manage on my own. I’m Sir Isaac Newton, after all!”

I agreed.

Moments later, I heard two women scream as he mistakenly chose the wrong exit. When he returned, his cheeks were flushed, even after he had applied a generous amount of powder. I decided to keep that observation to myself.

He sat quietly, inspecting everything around him—the table, the lighting, and the plastic utensils. I could tell he was dying to inquire, but pride held him back. To tease him, I bent and twisted a plastic spoon in ways he had likely never seen before, but I soon felt guilty and stopped.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Pleasant day, is it?”

“It is indeed,” I replied.

“Married?” he asked.

I showed him my ring. “Eighteen years.”

He rolled his eyes, and we shared a laugh.

“Children?” he continued.

“Yes,” I replied.

“How many?”

“Three. I have pictures if you want to see,” I offered.

“Pictures?” he inquired.

“Forget it,” I said, sensing his disinterest.

“So, what do you do?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“For work or for leisure?”

“Both. It seems we have time,” he replied.

“I work in data entry and spreadsheet analysis for a private equity firm focused on mergers and acquisitions in the transportation sector.” I noticed his eyes glazing over, so I quickly continued, “For fun, I play pickleball on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and participate in a corn hole league on weekends when I’m not mowing the lawn.”

In an instant, his eyes rolled back, and just like that, he vanished.

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