Every expedition into a new frontier had a base of operations. How would astronauts have gotten to the moon without ground control at Kennedy Space Center guiding the Apollo? Where would Lewis and Clarke be without forts Mandan and Clatsop to bear the winters in? Alan was sure his exploration lay grounded somewhere in the town. He just had to find the right spot to nest.
If the rumors of this place were true, a world of discoveries was just waiting to be grasped. But first, Alan needed a place to stay. And for that, he needed more than fifty dollars.
Driving slowly through Beach City, Alan kept his eyes peeled for anything resembling an easy job. It was hard to imagine anything odd happening to anyone in the sleepy little town. The sun had just peeked over the lip of the horizon, and in the dim morning glow the townsfolk were beginning their days. Two teens were opening up a donut shop and getting ready for the morning rush. Or, more accurately, one teen was getting ready while the other was listening to music and flailing his long limbs around in what appeared to be some sort of dance.
Donuts? That sounds like far too much of an early-morning affair. And I absolutely cannot do mornings. Except for, you know... the morning I'm currently in.
A father and his two sons were manning a boardwalk fry stand. One of the boys was very diligently performing maintenance on a fryer, pulling at pipes through an access panel with a determined look on his face, while the other was tapping hurriedly on his smart-phone and muttering excitedly to himself.
Ugh, all that grease! Certainly there's a way to earn my keep here without getting so... greasy. And is it a coincidence that their hair looks like fries?
A mother was chasing her son around the pier, both giggling uncontrollably to themselves at their little game of tag. Alan couldn't help but stare as he drove by.
What's with the hair in this town? Hers was so... big. And square. And who wears shades like that anymore?
All of the people in the town were regular, peaceful, work-a-day folk. And it got Alan doubting. Could these people really be the source of such rumors and anomalies? Is something new and interesting truly going on here, or is it all just hearsay? And, most importantly, was there nowhere to work that didn't involve getting up early or handling grease?
"Hey man, nice car!"
Alan knew for a fact that he was not in a nice car. Regardless, he rolled down a window to address the speaker. Before him was a middle-aged man, bushy bearded and... bald? Alan took another glance and saw that he did have hair. Tons of it. It was just all on the very back of his head, as if a long wig was hanging off of his ears. His white-tank-top-and-shorts ensemble displayed a very prominent farmer's tan, which reminded Alan of the dangers of over exposure to ultraviolet radiation.
Note to self: prioritize procuring suntan lotion after all essentials are accounted for.
With an enormous smile on his beard-covered face, the man continued.
"That thing's gotta be older than you are, kid!"
A logical conclusion.
"Yes, it is... very old. Thank you."
"It's got a great shine on it! You wash it yourself?"
Do I what?
Alan did a double take of his surroundings and found that, according to a very prominent neon elephant sign, he was in front of It's A Wash, the town's glibly named car wash. Below the elephant hung a very easy-to-miss 'help wanted' sign, which piqued Alan's interest.
Well, as long as help is wanted here...
"Yes, I do wash it myself. Actually, mister..."
"Greg! Name's Greg." Greg stuck out a large hand, which Alan awkwardly reached out to and shook through the car window. "Not, uh, 'mister' Greg or anything. Just Greg's fine."
"Alan," Alan said in greeting, finally prying his hand from Greg's over-friendly handshake. "Actually, I'm looking for work and-"
"Oh! You saw the sign!"
Greg gestured excitedly at the small sign overshadowed by his elephant's prominent neon figure.
"Well, you're in luck, kid! I'm lookin' for someone to help out at the old car-wash, and judging by the looks of your car you'd probably do a great job!"
That's what your judgment about my car tells you? Alan thought in slight disbelief, knowing full well that 'item one' was not in the best shape. Ah, but what was that thing people said about gift horses and looking into their mouths...
"I will certainly perform to the best of my ability," Alan affirmed, causing a huge grin to overtake Greg's face.
"Awesome! You're hired, man! Why don't you park that thing and I'll give you the tour?"
Alan complied, a dull fascination of what 'the tour' could entail emerging despite himself.
"So you from around here, kid? I know I haven't seen you at the 'wash before."
"Oh, I'm from... somewhere else," Alan responded. He and Greg were walking through the mechanisms of the main wash, and Greg found it a good time to pepper him with questions in between explanations of the various brushes and hoses he so painstakingly maintained.
"Like 'West Coast' somewhere else or 'other side of the planet' somewhere else?"
"Ha, oh, um, not so far away mist- uh, Greg. I'm from Delmarva, just not this part of it."
"Oh, somethin' of a local, are ya?" Greg was demonstrating proper car-washing technique with a squeegee on Alan's car, which Alan watched with a practiced look of faux-interest cultivated by years of attendance at University lectures.
"Yes, something of one. Have you always run this establishment by yourself?"
"You know it! This place is my jam," Greg responded energetically, sheathing his sponge and squeegee in a nearby bucket and showing Alan into the main office. 'Office' may be an exaggeration; it was more of a several-waiting-chairs-and-desk-with-cash-register room than an office room.
"So why have you decided to start hiring now?" Alan didn't know what compelled him to ask. Surely it would bring no negotiable advantage to the discussion to question Greg's decision to hire him. But a small business owner doesn't go from sole dominion over their store to sharing their professional burden with others without reason.
Perhaps if Alan had never asked, he never would have gotten his first lead. Or perhaps he would have found out sooner or later anyway, Greg being the way he was. But Alan did ask, and this day, his first day in Beach City, Alan did get his first lead.
"Well, I just wanted to spend s'more time with my son, ya know? What will all that crazy gem stuff going on I-"
Greg stopped and took on a nervous look. He tried to think of a good excuse a fast as he could, but the thread was already out, and Alan had caught it faster than he could reel it in.
"W-wait, what stuff?" Alan asked excitedly.
"Ha... haha, oh, you know, it's not really..." Greg nervously put an arm behind his head, scratching his hair as if it would give him the explanation he needed. "It's just... weird stuff always happens in Beach City, you know? I'm sure you've heard about it. That's... all. That's all there is to it. I was talking about the weird stuff."
Alan blinked. Confirmation. It was a confirmation! Alan had no idea why Greg had called it 'gem stuff', but he was sure it was some colloquialism he could figure out later. The important part was that Beach City was an anomalous area. It was anomalous enough for people to plan their lives around, to... want to see their sons more about?
Alan blinked again, and the excitement abated. There was nothing to go on yet, just one small part of one conversation. But the thread was there. Alan just needed to tug at it.
"So, by weird stuff, what exactly are you-"
Alan was cut off by a loud honk. A van was idled in front of the car wash with what appeared to be someone's giant smiling head bolted to the roof.
"Oh, hey, that's the mayor!" Greg said, hustling Alan outside. "We better not keep him waiting. C'mon! I'll show you the ropes!"
Alan sighed. I suppose I'll have to work at work.
Alan closed the large, metal overhead door to the main wash. It was the end of the day, but Greg had somehow managed to avoid any further inquiries about 'weird stuff' in his own clumsily-skillful way. Alan sighed. Maybe tomorrow would be more fruitful. At least he hadn't gone hungry today. Greg had an extra sandwich or two buried in his van, which Alan ate on faith that they hadn't been buried for too long.
Alan got back into his car, reclining the driver's seat as far back as he could and preparing to settle in for the night. Tomorrow would surely bring him something, he knew it.
Or, at least, he hoped.
Before sleep could fully take a hold on him, Alan heard the light rapping of knuckles-on-glass. Rolling down his window, he made out the blurry figure of Greg. He was standing next to the car with a concerned look on his face.
"Hey man, I didn't know you didn't have a place to crash. If you want, there's a cot in the 'wash. You know, in that room past the main office with all the sponges and soap and stuff in it?"
Alan thought for a moment before remembering what Greg was talking about. Oh, yes, the supply closet. What a palatial chateau. But, at least it's better than... this.
"But isn't that your room?"
"What? You think I'd live in a dinky place like that? No way man, I've got my own sweet setup!"
"You mean your... van?"
"Hah, I knew you were a bright one!"
The closet turned out to be quite nice. At least, for a free place to live your employer of one day gives you, it was quite nice. A cot sat tight against two shelves full of cleaning supplies, and a small stack of bulk-material boxes served as a small night stand.
"Pretty nice digs, right?" Greg declared. "And you can use the car wash as a shower anytime!"
"Haha, you mean when people aren't around, right?"
Greg gave him a blank stare. "Yeah. That too."
Greg left with a "g'night, kid!", which Alan was too sleepy and confused to properly respond to. But Alan had set out that day to find a place to plant his feet. And as he lay his head down on the cot's lumpy mattress, he knew he had found it.
Every expedition into a new frontier had a base of operations. Apollo 11 had the Kennedy Space Center. Lewis and Clarke had forts Mandan and Clatsop. And Alan had the It's A Wash car-wash.