10:20 A.M.
Biff Tannen was a little happier today than usual as he looked through one of George McFly's final reports. The man's handwriting was usually a bit messy, but probably knowing the importance here, it looked considerably better. This could be what decided if the bank's president – and their boss – James Strickland would consider promoting the loan officer to a supervisor's position.
With a little more of a spring and his face not bearing its usual smirking or scowling look, he marched into Strickland's large office, just as the man was rearranging some papers on his desk. Hearing the creak of the door, the man (who bore a striking resemblance to his school disciplinarian older brother) jumped tensely.
"Who the h-ll is there!?" he shouted, no longer surprised, but angry.
Man, this don't look good. "Sir, Mr. Strickland, you wanted to see this stuff from last week. Sorry, maybe I shoulda knocked first," he said, with a very brief, almost sarcastic laugh.
"That's an understatement Mr. Tannen. You should always knock upon entering a superior's office or personal area. Since you've at least had enough discretion to not wear those ugly plaid pants into my bank today, I'll let it slide," assured the boss, now standing up straight and glaring at his employee. "But, remember this, only a loser doesn't knock. Now, let's see those papers."
As Biff gladly handed them over and hoped for the best, his boss looked through it, seeming satisfied. "I've still never caught you drunk at work, despite my thoughts to the contrary. Plus, so far, you've had a mostly good customer report, you apparently helped the Jones' family with that $2000 loan, and all these figures look applaudable to me," he said, as earnestly as a man like him would. However, he continued walking forward with the paper in his hand. "However, since when did the back pages not come the report, Tannen," Strickland said sternly, as if he were talking to a five-year-old.
Biff was confused as he was now. "Lemme see it. I know it was there when I checked it this morning. I-" he stopped dead sentence when saw that was indeed true. "I really don't know, maybe the other sheets are in my desk still or around the house. I'll look and correct the mistake soon, sir," he said.
"You've got one day, Mr. Tannen. If you can't produce a proper version of this report by tomorrow morning, the position will go to someone else on Monday. Even Lester Parker, perhaps."
After that conversation ended, the lifelong bully's mood changed back closer to how he normally was. Entering George's office several yards away in the same way he'd just gone into his bosses, he noticed his pushover co-worker standing up talking on his office phone, as if he were on the losing end of the conversation.
"Well, now, how much do you want to put down on your first visit, Mr. Williams? I'm positive we could work something out, I do-" he stopped when he heard a noise. "Wait, now, you'll have to hold on for just a minute," he said politely but uncertain, placing the phone gently face down on his desk and slowly straightening up into a stance.
"Oh, hey Biff, what can I do for you?"
"You can find the rest of this report, McFly. Idiot was finally happy with me for once, then he complains that the last two pages are missing here."
George was now in a situation he seemed to be in every day; not knowing what to say in a tight situation. However, he thought he recalled something from the morning. "Now that I think about it Biff, I-I might have misplaced the other pages. They're probably still out at the house. I remembered that this morning, but I didn't want to make us late for work by going back."
Looking only a teeny bit less angry, he rambled, "I dunno how you'd get the back pages separated, but sh-t happens sometimes. Jerk said I've got a day to hand it in, so why don't you take an hour off and go home to look?"
Not putting up any contest, he simply uttered, "Okay. Will anybody be covering for me, though?"
"Lester can do it, I guess. You two know each other pretty well," said Biff, as he went out to call him in.
"Yo, Lester," said Biff, approaching the empty teller window. "McFly is out for awhile on a, shall we say, personal errand. You can take his office till he's back."
"Me, taking George McFly's office? Are you sure that's a good idea, Biff? If I get found out, someone could get me in trouble. I could get in trouble," he repeated nervously. "What do I say if somebody calls?"
As they approached closer, Biff simply joked, "Just make somethin' up, say to call back when George is in if ya get really stuck."
"Okay, Biff, I'll do that. Thanks," called the suit and tie classmate of theirs from the 50's.
As soon as Biff was gone, George sauntered slowly back over to his phone, with the now impatient client on hold. He lifted it and droningly told the man, "Listen, sir, sorry to put you on hold this long. Something came up and I have to go. If you call back in an hour or so, I should be here to take the call."
After some words of protest, the man hung up, as George walked out of his office with his head hung a bit, ashamed of listening to everybody like this. He knew Marty was right in all he said about him, and all the times he tried to make him stand up for himself or speak what was really on his mind. Whatever the reasons, though, he just couldn't do it.
.....
10:40 A.M.
Coming inside the McFly household for the first time, Emmett Brown tried to make himself as presentable as possible. He combed his hair a bit, so it looked a little less frizzy than usual. He even tucked his shirt in (as uncharacteristic as it looked to have a Hawaiian shirt that way)! Walking forward a few steps to where he was now parallel with the kitchen, the scientist noticed Marty's mother just a few feet ahead of him.
"You must be Doctor Brown," she said, reluctantly shaking his hand. "I'm Lorraine McFly, nice to meet you. Do you wan anything to drink?"
Doc already noticed a bottle of Vodka nearby, and although he wasn't sure if she meant that kind of drink or not, he didn't want that. Not only was he a non-alcoholic with a low tolerance to the stuff, but he sure didn't want to set that kind of example for his young friend. "Well, if you have any soda, that would be fine enough with me."
"Are you sure, Dr. Brown? It looks like I forgot to refrigerate our liter bottles, how silly of me," she said, as Marty looked on nearby. He was glad that his mom seemed to not be indifferent to Doc as of yet, but he knew not to get his hopes up.
Meanwhile, the scientist reaffirmed, "Surely. By the way, you can just call me Emmett. Dr. Brown is too formal. That's for suit and tie kinda guys."
Boy, he sure is different for his age, Lorraine thought, as she got a glass, then opened up the freezer. Because she was ever so slightly drunk, as well as just being a bit rushed and careless (as was not uncommon with her), she was too hard on the ice tray and a few of the cubes broke. Pouring him a Diet Sprite, she offered a little apology.
"Emmett, I'm sorry if I cracked the ice. I've just been a little on end recently."
"Oh, it's alright. Any ice is still ice, ain't it? Should we all sit down?"
Giving the nod, they all walked toward the dining room table just as Dave came into the living room area. Not expecting to see the inventor there, he somewhat surprisingly greeted him. "Yo, Doc Brown. What'cha doin' here?"
"Marty and I came up with that solution. In fact, we all were going to discuss it."
"I gotta be at work at 11:30, but, do y'all mind if I listen in?"
Lorraine, somewhat uncharacteristically, didn't seem to. "Good morning, David. Of course I don't mind; if your brother has befriended this man, shouldn't we all know about it?"
"Well, it's kind of a long story. Should I start?" asked Marty, before continuing when he didn't hear any protest. "Yesterday I went to visit the guys, then all I was gonna do was stop by Burger King for a snack. I thought Dave might've been working too. Anyway, I ran into Doug Needles and his stupid punk buddies. They wanted me to egg the guy's house, I said no, and ended up p-ssing them off." After pausing to take a breath, he offered, "Doc, you can tell the rest if you want."
"Certainly. I was simply out walking my dog, Einstein, when I heard this commotion near my residence. I look up to see those four hooligans trying to run after Marty here. I stopped them, and Einstein even bit Mr. Needles on the leg. Not like the little jerk wasn't asking for it," he mumbled under his breath. "They ran off and I went to speak with Marty just for a brief moment. We ended up conversing about our lives a little, and what can I further say than despite a rather obvious age barrier, we seemed to connect."
Lorraine now had to say her piece. "Well, I very much appreciate what you, and your dog, did for Marty. You're a nice man, obviously, but may I just ask a question? You said that the two of you connected. I see that as hard to imagine. My Marty is barely a teenager, and you must be a bit older than I am. I don't see what you two would have in common."
Doc didn't particularly want to have to defend anyone's age. He respected everyone's opinion, and on the surface, he thought that wasn't an illogical point of view. However, he also believed that things like friendships were perfectly capable of transcending barriers of age or anything else. He felt every person is an individual all their own.
Marty, on the other hand, immediately hit his face and buried it in one hand, frustrated with seemingly close-minded responses like that.
As if to sense her younger son's dissention with that comment, Lorraine asked, "Marty, do you think that's a hard thing to imagine at all?" Turning to Doc, she said, "He has several friends his own age. These three in particular, he calls The Guys, are his early childhood best friends, Alex, Chris, and Scott. What's wrong with staying around them?"
"Nothing, mom. They'll always be buddies with me, ya know. But, why does that mean I can't hang out with older people on top of it? They're cool, I mean, they know more than me 'cause they've been through this h-ll known as adolescence."
"I suppose I can understand that part. Growing up isn't easy, even for me. I don't mind you having adult friends, but at least have them younger than me and your father, for Heaven's sake, sweetie. Dick from 7-11 is okay with me, he seems a nice young man too."
Doc mostly listened, but felt he should add something else in. "Mrs. McFly, I certainly don't fault your point of view. Believe me, I've considered these possibilities in life myself, but may I say something? It's because of the age difference that Marty probably feels he can't easily tell you all about me. I don't know him as well as you do, but I can assure you from not only talking with him, but from the little bit Dave here has told me, that he's a very good kid."
"Thank you, Emmett. I also sense that you're a nice man with concern, and Marty has taken an equal liking to you. I'll ask it differently; if you two were to be friends, what would you two possibly do together? That's more how I meant it."
"I can guarantee we won't be going to any Junior High School events together," joked Doc, before seriously continuing, "However, that doesn't mean any avenue for a friendship is lost. Basically, I'm somewhat of a town repairman and even run a business with a work van. However, my hobby has always been with science, ever since I was a young boy. My home practically doubles as a small laboratory, albeit a d-mn more fun and lively one! In yesterday's conversation, I briefly mentioned how much of a mess it is, and Marty said he'd be interested in helping me out in doing the occasional odd job. Of course, only if that's approved by you and your husband."
"I don't know what George will say, but I think Marty's a little too young to have a job now. He's my baby."
Dave, who had been sitting there, basically taking it all in, piped up. "Mom, he's 14 and growing up. He's not gonna be your sweet little boy forever. Plus, I know this dude, he orders from my place all the time. I didn't tell you till now, but I've kinda talked with him ever since I started there in '79. Believe me, he ain't a bad guy at all, and I've told him a little about you guys when we were talkin' and stuff."
The front door opened, just as Lorraine was about to respond. George shuffled into the house, worried and hoping he'd find what he needed. "Lorraine, I'm not really staying home for long, but I, uh, think I may have misplaced a couple papers this morning when I was writing them up for Biff."
"I saw them, George, I put them on top of the TV. By the way, this is Dr. Emmett Brown. Marty met him yesterday, it's a bit of a long story."
A little surprised, but not really minding, he reached for the man's hand. "I'm George. It's n-nice to meet you sir. Do you and Marty only know of each other recently?"
"Yesterday afternoon, to be precise. Long story short, I happened to intervene when some troublemakers were trying to get him to vandalize my property. We began talking and found we had some things in common, strange as it may seem."
"Our son wants to help this man out with jobs around his garage. He actually wants to work for this man. What do you think of that, George? Isn't it too early for that?" moaned Lorraine, not really thinking he'd staunchly stand up and agree with her.
He had actually heard a few mentions of Dr. Brown from Dave, so he wasn't opposed to it. In typical George fashion, though, he'd never go against anyone to their face. "Well, I suppose the move was a little sudden. I don't know, though, Dave has briefly told me about Dr. Brown. If Marty feels alright with it, it might be okay."
"Where are you going so soon?" she asked, noticing him heading back for the door.
"I should head back as soon as I can. Lester is covering for me at the bank. It's very important Biff has these papers, and if I don't get them to him soon, he might be angry. I'll see everyone for dinner. Take care, Dr. Brown," said George, walking with a little slouch out of the house.
Lorraine clearly wasn't pleased and downed another shot of vodka. 'He might be angry. Might be angry,' oh, just grow the h-ll up and be a man, George!
Meanwhile, Doc had some thoughts of his own. Great Scott! What a poor man. No wonder Marty feels so desperate to get out of this house.
Back at the bank, Lester was sitting in George's office. Although it was pretty uneventful, he was enjoying himself, mostly by reading whatever part of the newspaper George had. He also made a few personal calls, thinking it might also cut down the possibility of getting an incoming call while he was there.
However, before long, the phone did ring and George was nowhere in sight. It was too late. He couldn't hang up either, since it was a business and George might get in trouble if the caller reported it.
"Hello. Hill County Bank and Trust," he said, unsure of himself. "No, Mr. McFly isn't right now, but he'll be back shortly. I think he went on an early lunch break." Lowering the receiver, he repeated, "I think he's on lunch break."
A few seconds later, Lester continued, "Well, Mr. Williams, I'm sure if you call back soon, he'll be here. I know he won't be gone."
After an audible angering voice on the other end, he continued to try calming the man down. "No, we're not incompetent here, George just takes an early lunch sometimes because he, well, doesn't have time for breakfast at home."
The next thing the man said made him jump, though. "My, my boss. You want to speak to the bank president? Okay, hold on just a moment," said Lester, immediately worried. Why didn't I have to make a call then?
.....
10:55 A.M.
After driving Dave to Burger King for work, Lorraine and Marty also got out of her new Ford Taurus station wagon. Doc being the typical fast driver he was had left first, and managed to beat them by a couple minutes. He was still waiting outside. She'd decided to see what his place looked like before deciding if Marty should work there or not.
"I'm perfectly happy to show you the inside of my place. Just be forewarned, though, it's not very clean. Not only am I a packrat, but like I said, I have electronic parts everywhere," he assured. Just thank goodness I don't have the time circuits out in anyone's view.
Lorraine stepped in a little reluctantly, despite her somewhat warming up to him. Marty, however, was excited to see the Doc's house. He noticed a few of the very machines he had mentioned earlier, such as the dog food can opener/feeder. He even noted a saxophone and some old records, even including some rock and roll. This was definitely not the typical living space of a man in his 60's, where he normally would've expected to find black and white styled things dating no later than the 1940's.
After chatting for a few more minutes, Lorraine asked, "So, what kind of handyman are you exactly?"
"More or less I do typical household electronic repairs, but sometimes a little extra, hence the Scientific Services part of the name. This means I might wire up a videotape recorder to play on a 1950's TV, or spend extra time with the electrical parts of someone's pool. A jack of all trades, perhaps."
"Hmm, sounds interesting. I try to get George to fix stuff around the house, but he doesn't always do it right. I might call you for that in the future if that's okay," Lorraine said, with Doc's obvious nod of agreement. "However, wouldn't you want to at least wait until Marty is 16 before he helps you out with a job that pays money and requires work like that? A boy his age can't get a job."
"Well, I can understand this viewpoint. Marty was the one who wanted to work for me in some fashion or another. Let me assure you, he'll never have to work. It's strictly a voluntary basis for possibly just for a couple hours during the summer. In fact, I'll be willing to cut it down, or even discontinue it once school starts again so it won't interfere with his studies. Of course, it won't be for me by any means, I'll be paying him maybe 30 dollars a week for his services."
Lorraine began to think it was okay, especially when he mentioned school. "Alright. I can see this might not be as bad as I feared it to be. I don't know if he told you, but we're all going away for a short vacation this weekend. We'll be back on Monday."
Marty, lost in the task of checking stuff out still, didn't seem to hear her. Doc said, "Actually, no, I don't believe he mentioned that. Then again, both of our meetings weren't exactly routine or planned. We've each had a lot to discuss with each other apparently. Where are you guys goin', if you don't mind my inquiring?"
"To visit my parents in Marin County, near San Francisco. It's just for the weekend. We haven't been seeing that much of them in the last few years." Changing the subject, she assured, "Knowing that, how about just taking him on one or two calls today. You make sure my little boy is home before 5 o'clock, though."
Both Marty and the scientist frowned a little at that mention. When he was younger, he himself hated being talked about like that. However, he wasn't about to let that on. "Not a problem at all. I had appointed to make a short stop over at Lou's Café today to help repair their jukebox and look at the air conditioning. I can take him along just to observe for awhile."
"That sounds reasonable, Mrs. McFly."
"Please, since you wanted me to call you Emmett, feel free to call me Lorraine," she said, turning to leave. "Bye, Marty. Have fun with Doc, and be home in time for dinner."
"Oh yeah, I will be," said Marty, as he snapped out of his mini trance he'd sometimes get into. Something had caught his attention in Doc's living room. "Hey, Doc, is that your sax?"
"Certainly. God help me, I'm not a very seasoned player, but I enjoy having it around. I'm the type that will buy anything I might even have a remote interest in, if ya can't tell."
"That's really cool. Maybe we could play together some time," suggested the teen.
.....
11:30 A.M.
George came trotting back into work, a little faster than normal. He was glad to have found what he needed to, but hoped his absence hadn't cause more trouble than it was supposed to have averted. Just as he was about to sigh with relief, he saw his boss, James Strickland, standing at his office door with a stern, angry look. Oh no, this probably isn't a good sign.
"Ahh, Mr. McFly, just the man I wanted to see," he declared flatly.
"Hello. Is there any trouble, sir?"
"Oh, according to one of my callers, there sure is. He says you put him on hold and were of little help this morning. Next thing he knew, he called back only to get your dimwitted buddy, Lester Parker on the phone. Since you just came back into the bank, I assume you went out without my consent. Would you like to explain that, McFly?"
George could tell the plain truth of his whole life: Biff Tannen made him do nearly everything in some form since they were 6 years old; and rarely, if ever, got in trouble. However, dealing with an angry Biff didn't appeal to him, but he didn't want to implicate one of the few friends he had either. He tried to fib.
"I should've told you, but my wife, Lorraine, wanted me to get something from the, uhh, grocery store. The Safeway around here has things that, you know, um, our closer stores don't have."
"And this is something you couldn't have done after work?" asked James, pointing his finger.
"Well, you know how she can be, sir. When she wants something, she just wants it. Ha ha ha ha," he said, laughing and hoping it would get the man on his side, if only to a small extent.
"OK, I guess I can buy that part, McFly, but that still doesn't explain why Mr. Parker was in your office when he should've been at the teller's counter. What does he know about loans?"
"I really don't know what he was doing in my office, sir. I didn't tell him to go in. Maybe he just decided to cover for me," said George weakly. Even he was getting angry with himself. Please, you've got to think of something better than that. He'll know if you're not careful.
"Hmmm, that sounds like something Biff Tannen would do. I better go ask that loser!"
George was now getting really worried. Whatever happened, he couldn't let Strickland find out the truth. He timidly followed his boss into Biff's office.
"Excuse me, Tannen. A question if I may. You weren't by chance, responsible for having the dimwitted repeat speaking Lester taking over for Mr. McFly while he was gone, were you? It's just like you, Tannen, to devise something like that!" he snapped.
"Uh, no. Maybe he decided to do it himself," said Biff, chuckling.
"McFly claims to not know who did it either," began James Strickland, as George uncharacteristically cut in.
"Uhh, Mr. Strickland, now, I'm-I'm sorry sir, it was my fault. I had to run an errand for Lorraine, like I said, but I told Lester he could cover for me. It's not Biff's fault," he trailed off, desperately hoping for the best.
"I'll be asking him too, but since I believe what you've told me is true, you've got more reports to do this week, McFly. Try not to let a loser like that cover for you next time," said the balding man, hastily walking away.
Within a few seconds, Biff's demeanor changed. "What the h-ll? You told the lousy b-stard that you did it. Thanks a lot, McFly; that saves my a-s. I'll buy ya a beer or something on the way home."
Of all the current 38 years he'd known Biff, he could be friendly on the odd occasion, and he was glad when those came. Over time, though, he never expected them to last long. "Well, okay, I guess that would be nice. I had to tell him that, I-I didn't know what else to do. I can't tell him I do your reports."
"Hey, I tell ya what. I'll do the rest of 'em myself for today," said Biff. He actually did do some of his own work anyway, but often gave George the harder stuff. He let up this time.
.....
As Doc's large van entered downtown Hill Valley, Marty had to ask Doc Brown something. "So, Doc, have you ever met Lou? I've been in there a couple times, but never seen him. His son is usually working. I hear the guy is really old too."
"Oh, yes he's over 80 at the moment, but I recall the man quite a bit, back when it was a malt shop in the 1950's. It looked quite different than now."
"Yeah, I've heard my parents mention that sometimes. Was that the only place for teens to hang out back then?" asked Marty, amazed that there weren't yet malls a mere three decades earlier.
"I was already in my 30's by then, but I'm hip enough to remember that they were the main gathering place for young people. They had a giant jokebox and cheaper coffee. Lou, though, he was a little grumpy with people sometimes, but not a bad guy in general," affirmed Doc, as he parked on the corner of Hill & Main, opposite his destination.
As they got out of the van, Marty asked, "Anyway, how long are you gonna be here for? I don't mind if it's awhile."
"Oh, just a couple simple repairs. It should be under half an hour."
With that, they walked inside the modern looking restaurant. It bore little resemblance to the café he remembered. There were a lot of younger people inside, mostly in the teens and 20's snacking or playing video games in the right-hand corner. Over to the left, near the payphones, a jukebox was there. It would usually be playing current hits with most patrons singing or tapping along with. Today, though, it was broken.
"Hey Emmett, nice to see ya," called the middle-aged man behind the counter.
"Good morning, Bobby," he started, referring to longtime owner Lou Caruthers' 54-year-old son. "How bad is the air conditioning as of now?"
"Not good, my friend. I think we might've blown a duct from having it on full blast the last couple months all the time," he said, laughing a bit. "Also, that d-mn jukebox doesn't seem to want to play the records without skipping either."
"Ah, h-ll, I'll take some rockin' music over cold air any day, dude!" shouted one of the teenagers.
Waving to him gently, so as to politely tell him that would be taken care of too, the man was about to wave Doc over to the back, where the central unit was. He stopped to say something, though. "Oh, Bobby, this is my new neighborhood friend, Marty. He's a great kid, and might be helping me out occasionally on my calls."
"Hey, nice meetin' ya," said Marty, as they shook hand. "Far out place you got here. Doc says this used to be a malt shop too."
"Certainly. We've changed a lot in the past 25-30 years. It's hard for even me to believe."
"Bobby, if it's appropriate for me to inquire, how's your father doing?" asked Doc.
With a sigh, he quietly said, "Not good, buddy. Not good at all. He's resting at home and hasn't been in for a few months now. I'm afraid his working days are over."
For the next 20 minutes, Marty patiently waited as Doc took apart the building's air conditioner – even starting his helping him by getting certain tools from the van. To his own surprise, he wasn't bored at all. Something about Doc just made it interesting. Although, being able to check out random girls who came in didn't hurt either. Just a few minutes short of High Noon, as he was furiously screwing away at one of the internal mechanisms (with probably a million covers and screws lying around), a loud whirling sound was heard.
"It's even stronger than before! Great Scott!" shouted the scientist, almost jumping with joy. Marty smiled at this. He loved seeing that kind of youthful, vibrant energy coming from a 62-year-old man, especially since it wasn't exactly common. He also took some mental notes on all the methods of repair Doc was doing.
With both of them stepping out of the back office area, Doc relayed, "Bob, everything is repaired and good as new. The fan belts needed replacing and I cleaned out the internal mechanisms, so it will run even better than previously. Now, all I have to do is look at the jukebox!"
"Yeah!" cheered most of the customers, though they were happy to get the AC back as well.
"Hey, we shoulda done this first, so I could've heard some tunes while we were doing that," said Marty as an afterthought, just as Doc unplugged the large jukebox with green and orange flashing lights on the bottom.
"Marty, can you help me inch this away from the wall?"
"Yeah, sure," the teen said, standing on the right side of it as he propelled it forward. Partly given his athleticism and that he was often doing something physical in some way, he was stronger than his small, skinny size would seem to contradict that. Doc, too, was in great condition for a man of his age. In fact, he was probably one of the sole people bordering on being a senior citizen who did this kind of daily physical job. Without much trouble, they pulled it out a few inches from the wall, to where Doc had easy access to it. Examining the rear top part closely, he picked up a Philips head screwdriver and started going to work.
Marty watched in awe as he laid out all the appropriate screws carefully on a nearby table he 'borrowed' for the moment. The young teen had never seen this kind of work done on a musical object like this before, and being an aspiring musician, it interested him even more. "It's so cool that you get to do work like this every day."
Before long, the scientist had the glass top off, and was checking out the compartment where the records played. He was one of the few people who felt confident working on electronics while they were plugged in. In the past, he'd sometimes learned about that the hard way via electrical shortages and fires.
"I've got to test this out. Pick a record, Marty!"
"OK. Are you sure about this, Doc? Y'ever worked on a jukebox before?" he asked, a teeny bit unsure.
"Well, not for this precise problem, no. But, I'm positive my operation will go okay," he assured, moving back behind the machine.
After a few seconds of searching, Marty put in a quarter and tried to play a new Rod Stewart song. Doc backed up a bit but still observed the machinery. Sure enough, within seconds, the sound began to scratch wildly until it actually cut off, completely dead.
"Great Scott! This machine certainly isn't in good condition. Let me examine the record to ensure that wasn't what it was."
With the machine now exposed and part of the rear cover taken off, he was able to get to the LP within seconds. It was in fine condition, so that wasn't it. He put it back in its place before taking a flashlight out of the white lab coat he had redressed himself into before leaving. The inside parts of the player clearly looked a bit worn. However, the imminent problem was the needle that was connected to the arm of the record player. It certainly was living a rough life, but happened to finally give up and break just then.
That's either a lucky or unfortunate coincidence. Doc considered the next thing to do with it. Fortunately, he had that area to himself to work in. It was in a relatively isolated part of the building anyway, but, quite a few people had either moved tables or left.
"Bobby," called Doc, taking a few steps to the front counter. "I think the needle required to read the albums has finally decided to give up on life. I don't think I'll be able to repair it here at this time. If you like, I could arrange to transport it to my garage and work on it there."
"Man, I knew that thing was gonna go kaput at some point soon. The kids love it too. I tell you what, I won't ask you to do that, but if you do, I'll have to pay you extra," offered the man, looking over at the machine.
"Not to worry. I'll have her back here within a few days. You don't have to pay extra, though. You know I've loved doing anything remotely scientific or mechanic since I was a boy."
"You did quite a bit of work just to take it apart. Are you sure you want to have to reassemble it just to transport it, do the work, then take it back? That's a lot of effort, Emmett."
"I don't really have anything else to do. Business has been a little slower than usual. Ironic for the summertime," said Doc. With that, it took him a few minutes to halfheartedly tighten up the screws again, just enough to hold the thing in place. With the help of Marty, as well as a few other guys from the Café, they all managed to squeeze it into the back of Doc's work van.
As they drove off, again heading toward Doc's house on the opposite end of town, Marty commented, "I wouldn't mind helping you out when I can with that kind of work. I'm not just sayin' that 'cause of the jukebox either. Even the air conditioner was cool to see too."
"You know it's nice to have someone who shows an interest in your work and your life. It may take awhile for you to pick up everything I do, though. For now, if you go out on calls with me, just doing small tasks, such as getting tools for me, helping me transport things, or maybe some very simple repairs," Doc said, sometimes taking his eyes off the road. Luckily he was a very skilled driver.
"That sounds cool to me, Doc."
Glad as he was to have apparently made an already faithful friend, the man was a little curious as to the other point of view. "Marty, would you mind if I asked you something a little bit personal?"
"Oh yeah, shoot. It's not like I even have much personal stuff to share."
"I realize we seem to have a lot of common ground, and I'm slightly acquainted with your brother, Dave, but we are almost 50 years apart. Wouldn't you rather get better acquainted with your peers, rather than some old man who does odd jobs and scientific experiments?"
Marty himself had to think about that for a moment. "I dunno, I mean I'm not good at feelings and all that, but you're more cool than the normal guy your age. I feel like I can tell you stuff that I'd never dream of telling my parents. Even though Dave is older than me, he's still too close to my age to see things way differently. You've already been through it."
"What kind of things, if it's okay with me to question?"
"A lot. Like I have a hard time saying no to people. I can't believe how much I feel like my old man sometimes. For me, it's saying no to challenges and all. For him it's any little thing. I sometimes wonder he managed to even get married and have three kids," he said, deciding to stop right there. Any further beating of the topic would only get him depressed and angry.
Reflecting back on the timid looking semi dorky man he'd briefly met that morning, he couldn't disagree. "Yes, your father doesn't strike me as the sharpest guy on the block. I'm sure he's a good man, just one who's not confident in himself. I sense how opposite of most of your family that you are, though. Are you worried about what people think of you in any given situation?"
"Yeah. That's why I'm so hard on myself and try really hard to be cool. Okay, I can't talk to a girl for the life of me. I don't just mean asking 'em out, but even barely saying hi. At the mall this morning, I ran into this guy from school and he was with his new girlfriend. She just talked to me for a second and I felt a million times more nervous than if I performed on Johnny Carson. "
A small part of him still expected the rebuttals to fly, such as being 'too young' to worry about that, or knowing 'it would work out in time' like George McFly would usually say. They didn't from Doc, though.
"Even at my age, I'm not as experienced with women as I wish I was. They truly are a great mystery to me," he said, thinking of his past relationships, many of which ended poorly. They also were becoming more distant memories. He was probably the oldest bachelor he knew, and was certain that by this point in his life, it would stay that way; forget the prospect of ever having a family.
When he was confident he had the teen's full attention, he continued, "Marty, I have a common saying in life. Simplistic as it may sound, I believe if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."
.....
At around 12:15 P.M., they arrived back at Doc's garage.
"I just need to quickly check my answering machine as well. You know, someday in the future, it would be convenient to have portable telephones you could take anywhere with you."
Following just a few feet behind as they went inside, Marty agreed. "Yeah, that'd be pretty far out, but what if you lost it?"
"If anything like that does truly exist in the future, we'll have a way to work that out," he said, turning on his answering machine. In 1982 terms, it was pretty state of the art, with a full sized cassette player used for his answering message and the other for callers.
"You have 1 mess-age," the computerized voice said. Soon afterwards, the tape finished rewinding.
"Hello, Dr. Brown, this is Joe Preston. Our pool jets at the house aren't working at full force anymore. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind having a look at them sometime in the next day or two. It's Thursday, about 11:30 in the morning. Hope to hear from you soon."
Marty's eyes lit up. "Holy cr-p! I know that guy. That's my friend, Edward's dad. That was the guy I ran into this morning at the mall. I can't go with you on that one. Look, I fibbed an excuse this morning for why I wouldn't hang out with him. Doc, none of my friends know about me knowing you and I wouldn't know what to say."
Before the teen could continue, the older man calmly said, "Marty, it's alright. You've known me for, what, one day? You can't expect everyone to know. At least your family does. Even if your mother is a little unwilling to cut the cord, I know she's taking it far better than she could have. When I was your age, if I had befriended an old man, my mother would've had me committed to an insane asylum."
"That bad? Let me know, I mean, what were you like at my age? You were into science, but, if I ran into you at 14 years old, what could I expect to find with young Doc Brown?"
"A misunderstood, semi rebellious kid who was skipped ahead three grades in school, and ended up causing trouble when all he wanted to do was get close to people."
It wasn't in his style to show feelings, since he had a slight tough guy image of himself. However, he couldn't help feeling truly sorry for Doc's past life. Before he could say anything, though, there was a sudden knock at the door.
"I wonder who that could be. I seldom get visitors here," Doc said, rushing over to the front door located behind the fenced-in entry. He recognized a recently familiar face.
"Hello. Alexis from the car dealership! I remember you, obviously. What brings you here?" he asked, with jus a little excitement and surprise.
"I was on my lunch break and just thought I'd give ya your wallet. Jim found it after you left this morning. He was gonna take it over to you, but since I was heading into this area anyway, I told him I would."
"My wallet? Great Scott! I presume my jitters over buying the car had my mind involved else. I owe you something in return for this, ya know?" said the scientist, thankfully. "Do you want to come in for a moment?"
Marty was surprised. "Doc? How'd you pay for stuff without that? You went shopping this morning when I ran into you, right?"
"Yes, but I carry extra spare cash in my pockets sometimes. Luckily for me I have those strange habits. I'm still a bit surprised I failed to notice," Doc said, inviting the young woman in.
"By the way, this is Marty. He's a neighborhood kid who helps me with household chores and the occasional assistance with my work," he said, fibbing just a little. To be honest, he wasn't 100% sure exactly what to call their relationship as of yet. He already felt comfortable with the young woman, having had a few nice talks with her already. Still, though, he thought it was best to be careful and just bend the truth for now.
"Heya, Marty, nice meeting you," she said, casually looking around at all the equipment in the place.
"Yeah, same with you. That's a nice car Doc bought this morning," he said, doing his best to make small talk. He did always want to have something intelligent sounding to say when he met new people.
Before long, turned left once inside the main 'living room' area, heading into the central lab part of Doc's converted house. At first, he didn't think anything unusual of it. Then he remembered something. The time circuits! Great Scott, nobody can know about those.
Rushing over as if to guard the entryway like a kid might try to stop his parents from seeing a mess, the scientist, somewhat nervously improvised, "Oh, hey, wait! I-I thought we all could just stay out here. I can provide us with snacks if it's so inquired. That's where the kitchen is."
"Yeah, I'll at least stay out here, Doc. What have you got in there though, is it some big secret?" Marty asked, only jokingly.
"Why don't we just say it's a mess? Not just any mess either. Sometimes I get so involved in my work that I end up leaving the lab looking like a small earthquake might've hit it. Trust me, cleaning it up would be hard."
"How hard is it?" she asked, assuming he was exaggerating.
"Um, nothing I can really delve into at the moment. But, by no means does it mean I'll be leaving it in its current condition."
Marty chuckled as the silly debate continued. Casually looked at his watch, he announced, "Hey, it's getting late and I've got a few places I wanna stop, so I'm gonna get going, guys. Doc, I guess I'll see you on Monday as soon as we get back."
"Enjoy the trip, Marty. As much as you possibly can," said Doc, half-jokingly, as Marty slipped out the front door.
"Yeah, later, Doc. See ya, Alexis," he said, barely waiting for a response as he briskly walked out to JFK Drive.
Turning left, Marty couldn't help but feel like today was going much better than expected, for the both of them. I wouldn't mind doin' some odd jobs or other stuff every afternoon or something to help the Doc out. I could've cared less about science a day ago, and now I'm startin' to think it's cool.
As he went further, he started reflecting more on the man. Geez, this sure has been an interesting past day for him too. He met me, bought a new car, and hauled that jukebox to his place. Heck, it looks like he made two new friends. I mean, that chick was nice, but seemed a little too friendly to have just been returning his wallet. Oh well, I think it's time I should tell the guys about him now.
The teen thought if anyone he knew wouldn't worry about him meeting Doc, it would be The Pinheads: Chris, Scott and Brantley. As he started in the direction of his home, though, still on JFK Drive, he heard someone calling him.
"H-hey McFly!" the angry, young male voice shouted.
Marty turned around to spot just the guy he hoped to avoid. Needles. Although he was alone, it was still bad. Breathing a heavy sigh, he monotonously went, "Yeah, hey Needles. What's up?"
"I tell you what's up, Big M. My parents found out about what went on yesterday. Now I don't know if your punk –ss was responsible for that, or that insane old geezer friend of yours. What I do know is that you're gonna pay. Not only for getting' me busted, but for wussin' out on egging that goon's garage."
In a good mood and not wanting to deal with any of this, he just said, "Buzz off, man. What's up with you lately? We used to hang out when we were little kids and all."
"Yeah, that was before I knew what a punk you were. Look, I was gonna let you off easy, but you've made me mad now," called Douglas Needles, his young, but already ugly looking face getting too close to Marty for comfort.
As he shrugged and walked off, Needles called, "C'mon, McFly, you're gonna fight me, aren't you? Unless you're chicken!"
That was the nail in the predictable coffin. The other teen tensed up. He was now suddenly just as mad as before upon hearing that infamous remark. "Nobody calls me chicken," he quietly but angrily declared.
"Oh yeah? Prove it. If you don't take a swing at me, maybe I'll take it out where it rightfully deserves to be. On Doctor Brown. That sh-thead's mutt bit my leg and I ain't lettin' him get away with it either."
Now Marty was even more vengeful. "Leave Doc out of this or you're gonna be sorry!"
"He's a crazy old f-rt that should be in a mental hospital. You just can't live with that, can you, McFly?"
"Alright -ssh-le, that's it! Enough insulting my friends," Marty said as he quickly balled his right hand into a fist and knocked the other teen in the mouth before running off. He hurried up, in case he'd be followed. Instead he only heard Needles shouting.
"You son of a b-tch! That's my tooth you got!"
Apparently the punch dazed him enough to fall over and lay there awhile. He did feel a little guilty, but if he had any flaws, it would be his short fuse in situations like that. Marty still increased his walking speed. Within 15 minutes, he made it back home. Stomping in, still breathing a little hard, he just wanted to head for his room and be left alone for a while. He was stopped by Lorraine's voice, again coming from near the TV.
"Marty. Honey, you're home early. That was only a couple hours you were gone. Did you and Dr. Brown have a nice time?"
Amazingly, with everything that took place with Needles, he momentarily forgot about the trip he took with Doc. "Oh, um, yeah. It was nice. We went to Lou's the fix the air conditioning system and even their old jukebox which had a busted needle."
"That's nice, I knew he seemed okay, even if he is a little, well, different. You look exhausted, though, is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, mom. Just perfect."
"You don't look fine. Did anything happen?" Lorraine prodded, as she sometimes would.
"Come on, please. I don't want to talk about it, alright?"
"I know it's something. We don't have to talk about it now, but it's not about Dr. Brown, is it?"
Walking down the hall anyway, he just said, "No, nothing like that. Look, I kinda ran into that jerk Needles, and we got in a scuffle," he downplayed the word, to make it sound less bad than it was.
"You boys don't need to fight, you know? When I went to school, boys never fought like this. I think that's terrible."
Not even paying her any mind, except a nod as if to say Yeah, yeah. I've heard this all before, Marty went into his room and loudly shut the door.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure if going out of town for a few days would improve or worsen his mood. On one hand, he'd be away from his friends, and from Doc, not to mention cramped with the family in tight quarters. On the other side, though, it would get him away from Needles. The last thing he needed was that jerk looking for revenge. The two had been in arguments and made threats in the past, but this was the first time anything was done about it. Deep down, Marty knew it was wrong to throw the first punch, even if he was about to get hit himself. But, he couldn't stand there and let those things be said about a friend of his.
.....
7:30 P.M.
"You're home late," Lorraine retorted to George, as if she were talking to a small kid. "Dinner has been ready for over an hour. Why didn't you call if you were going to be late? Doing more favors for Biff?" she asked, slightly harsh and resentful in tone.
"You're right. I should've called, I'm sorry. Actually it was Biff, but it wasn't that. He actually went out with me after work for a beer."
"When was the last time you did that? How'd this happen, George? That's so unlike him."
George started to laugh as he put his now cold plate into the microwave. "Uhh, well, when I had to come home today, he had Lester cover for me. I told Strickland I didn't know about it. I-I just don't want to make Biff angry, especially if he'll soon be my supervisor."
His wife stifled the urge to tell him to grow up and be a man, instead deciding to move onto another subject. "What do you think of seeing my parents tomorrow?"
"I don't know. It might be nice seeing them again. I just don't know what your dad will say," he said, quietly, not wanting to think about it much.
"I know hasn't always been very accepting of you, and he's always been a little bit of a grump with me, but if he got through us being married, you don't have to worry about it now."
When the microwave beeped, he just said, "Okay, you're right."
"Kids, your father is home. Come out for dinner!" Lorraine shouted above the other noises in the house. Dave & Linda emerged from in front of the TV, while Marty followed, a little late as usual. Just as they all sat down, there was a loud knock at the front door.
"At this hour, who is going to be knocking at our door?" Lorraine complained. "George, would you answer that?" she called to her husband, now absorbed in the TV already.
Without saying a word, he shuffled over and opened the door. Standing there were two officers, one male, one female, with a disheveled looking young teenager whom the man faintly recognized.
"Hello guys. Can I help you?"
The female officer spoke up. "You're George McFly, right? Father of Marty McFly?"
"Uhh, yeah," he said, looking down.
"Sorry to disturb you sir, but this boy here says your son assaulted him earlier this afternoon. Do you know of this to be true?"
Hesitating for a moment, he just told the truth the best he knew. "No, not that I'm aware of. He didn't say anything about it."
Officer Reese, a woman in her mid 20's and new to the force, continued by asking, "Is Martin home now? If so, could we have a word with him?"
At the table, Marty became petrified, but knew his father wouldn't be able to lie. This was a time he really wished they'd left on vacation this evening instead. "Marty. Some people want to see you up here," George called, before wandering back over to the dinner table.
Marty came out a little apprehensively. "Hi there. What's going on?" he asked, casually as possible.
"Mr. McFly, this kid you know claims you punched him hard enough to knock out a tooth today. Is this true?" Reese asked, with Doug Needles behind her and her partner.
Oh man, I'm really gonna get it now. I just know the moron is gonna claim he didn't do anything, just to get me in trouble.
"We got in a little bit of a fight, yeah. Sorry about that. He threatened me for getting him in trouble earlier, though, and started saying really nasty stuff about some guy I know. I'm sorry for hitting him, but I couldn't just let him do all that."
"You know we arrest troublemaking kids like you now for things like that," said Reese, somewhat accusingly.
Reese's male partner, a big but nice and mild-mannered black guy named Ernie Jones spoke up. "We've had complaints about him before, so I don't doubt what you said is true. However, unless he actually made a move to hit you first, you shouldn't have assaulted him."
"Hey, quit lying, punk, or I'm gonna be the one beating your –ss in another fight!" shouted Needles.
"That's enough from you, Mr. Needles," said Reese, taking him back to the cruiser, out of sight. "Jones, make this fast. We gotta get to our next call anytime now," she said to her partner for that particular day.
"Yeah, you guys are right, but what can I do now? I mean, are his parents gonna hate me, or try to sue my parents?" asked Marty.
"Due to Needles' track record of juvenile offenses, we're going to just let everyone go with a warning. Hey, kid, I can't fault you for getting fed up with the little punk, Lord knows we sure have," said Jones with a slight chuckle, to which Marty fed back. "However, I highly advise staying away from him at all costs for quite some time."
Feeling a little more at ease talking with another guy, he said, "That won't be much of a complaint from me. Basically the reason I snapped was that he threatened to get back at some guy I just became friendly with. This is nobody from school. An older guy I know," Marty went on, still not sure if he should tell the whole truth or not. This man seemed pretty reasonable and willing to listen.
"Is it okay if we ask who this friend is?"
Alright, what have I got to lose now? Sure I can BS, but these are cops, so it's a little different. Besides, this guy seems nice enough, maybe he'll understand.
"Yeah, Dr. Emmett Brown. He lives on JFK Drive near the Burger King."
"You mean, the Doc Brown? I only met him once, but Reese has been to his place a few times. He's maybe a little unique, but seems like a good guy overall. How'd you two meet and how is Douglas Needles involved with that?"
Thank God he thinks Doc is okay. Marty was relieved at bit, as he recalled to the office the unlikely events of the previous day, which now seemed forever ago.
"Quite interesting," the officer said, now having a slight change of heart and siding with Marty. "Brown seems like a nice gentleman for getting you out of that mess. Mr. Needles, not surprisingly, didn't tell us that side of the story. You know what, I'm gonna let you off with a warning, but you need to watch yourself."
"Thanks. I'll do my best to do that. Usually I can keep my temper in control, but being around guys like that is enough to drive anyone crazy," said Marty, starting to turn to go back in the house before stopping in his trails. "Oh, one other thing. Your partner said you might arrest me. Is that true?"
"You might be if this kind of thing were to continue, but not now. Reese here sometimes exaggerates things just to get her point across," Jones said, apparently not too fond of today's partner. "You can go back inside now, but just keep outta trouble, kid. Next time, just give us a call if this brat bothers you instead of taking it into your own hands."
Marty had no problem agreeing to that. "You're really right, thanks for the advice. Good night," he said, waving, as he turned back to go in the house. He clearly was not looking forward to having to relay this conversation to his family. To his surprise, Lorraine was already standing in the doorway, apparently having listened to every word.
"Marty, what on Earth was going on today? Did you get in a fight? I don't know how you could not tell us about this," she said, finger pointing while sounding a bit more worried as opposed to angry, even though Marty knew it was both. "Don't you think the boy should be punished for this, George?" she whined.
Only paying marginal attention because of the unusual nature of the event, he still was half glued to the television set and said, "It certainly would have been better for him to tell us, but I suppose it's okay now."
Lorraine shrugged and continued, "I know that Needles boy is up to no good, Marty, but you didn't need to hit him, you know? If this is all about Doc Brown, maybe you shouldn't be around him after all."
Didn't we just go through a lot today to get you to change your mind on Doc in the first place? Now you're changing your mind again? Marty stood there, starting to stew much like he had before that very fight earlier in the day. "What's that mean, mom? I thought you said you didn't mind me seeing Doc."
"I don't mind it for him anymore, he's a nice man. But, if you're going to get into fighting because of him or what Needles thinks of him, maybe you shouldn't have that influence."
Linda, always the sarcastically rude one (even if she did have a point sometimes) jumped in. "I saw that weird guy once when I went with Dave to work. I mean, ugh! Gag me. God knows why you'd wanna be around that obnoxious old weirdo," she scolded her younger brother as if she were his wife or second mother.
The teen began to get angry all over again, not to mention internally frustrated. "What is everyone's problem!?" he shouted, uncharacteristically madder than normal. This momentarily startled everyone, especially his parents. "Just the slightest d-mn thing and you go jumping to these conclusions about me or what I do. I complain about school, and, 'Oh, it's that angry rock and roll music, Marty,' and you don't even know what the h-ll you're talking about!
There was a moment of stunned silence. Sure, he'd gotten mad and argued with his folks and authority figures before, but it still was on a reasonable level usually. He'd thrown loud temper tantrums as a little kid, but that was when he was easy to control. At this age, it was beginning to be more dangerous if he got this mad.
"Keep this up and you're not going on that trip tomorrow, young man!" scolded Lorraine. "You can have your dinner later. Just go to your room!"
"That room stuff might've scared me when I was 5, okay," he said, continuing to rant, but taking a breath and relaxing a little. Look, it's not just about Doc, it's about me. All I'm tryin' to say is you assume stuff is always wrong with everything. I mean, why do you take the first thing that comes into your head and stay with it?"
Not having a direct, easy answer she was willing to go into (and, furthermore, not being in the mood), she just echoed the kind of thing she'd normally say. "I suppose I don't understand what's popular today with you three kids, especially the boys. When I was a young girl at your age now, I didn't have crazy older friends, talk about boys all the time, or ride a dangerous skateboard-"
"Yeah, well, you weren't normal!" he snapped loudly, cutting her off mid-sentence.
George was watching the exchange very closely, unlike usual. Getting up and walking a little closer to his son, he held his hands out and tried to be firm. "Marty, please calm down!"
Ignoring his father, the young teen was already bolting for his bedroom, followed by a door slam a moment later.
"My God, that brat needs a straightjacket," came Linda's comment.
"Ah, come on," Dave said, finally speaking up. "Yeah, he went a little crazy, but you can't expect the kid to not react to being treated like a baby all the time, ma!"
As if to corroborate that statement, George went back to the TV and said, "Oh, you know. I think he'll be okay if he just, uhh, has some time alone. In the morning, it's likely he'll have forgotten about it."
Sighing, Lorraine proposed, "If that's the way you all feel, David, would you have a talk with him later?"
"Yeah, what the h-ll?"
Deciding not to be overly picky, she chose not to get angry with her older son for his 'too casual' kind of talking. She simply said, "Everybody else, let's just enjoy our dinner and pack afterwards. I sure hope the next few days are a little more relaxed than this."
Whether or not most of the family got along with Lorraine or not, no one could argue with that.