Ginger the Hippie-Part 1

A Time Travel Serial

Aug 08, 2025

Ginger woke up in the back of her van, dazed, confused, and with a shooting pain in her head.

She had no idea what day it was, let alone the time of day. Last she remembered, she was attending a musical festival featuring local bands from around Southern California. Her boyfriend, Marky (if you could call him that. Whenever Ginger asked him what they were, he told her that he "didn't like like labels) was playing with his band as part of the set. Ginger showed up to support him.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting up dizzy in the back of her van like a clubbed seal.

Ginger wracked her hazy brain to try to figure out what drugs she had taken last night. She typically didn't take anything but weed and the occasional shot of hard liquor. She didn't like how the psychedelics made her feel. She didn't enjoy the fever dream hallucinations or the splitting headaches they induced after she came down from her trip.

But even still, with the way she was feeling, she supposed it was highly likely that she had taken something that she couldn't remember.

Ginger rolled up the shades on her van only to be greeted by a flaming yellow ray of sunlight straight to the face, so bright it felt as if it was burning her eyes from her skull.

Once her eyes adjusted, Ginger could see that it was mid-morning at least, and her van was parked in some kind of mountain range that had to be near some kind of hiking trail.

The muscles in Ginger's limbs ached as she dragged herself up to the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, only for the engine to sputter and die.

Ginger let out a string of curses under her breath. Her gas tank must have been completely emptied. She was going to have to go into town on foot to get a tank of gas.

Ginger managed to find her sandals stuffed under the back seat of the van and began her descent down the mountain into the next town.

By the time Ginger was able to walk far enough to get to the nearest gas station, blisters were forming on the sides of her feet, and the sun was trailing beads of sweat down the sides of her face. There was nothing she wanted more than an ice cold soda.

As soon as Ginger entered the gas station, she knew something wasn't right. Everything was all wrong, from the shiny glass of the row of chest freezers to the strange looking cash register.

But at this point, Ginger was beyond caring. She just wanted to get her cold soda and her container of gas, get back to her van, and go home to sleep off this funk she was in.

The gas station had such a wide variety of cold sodas in its refrigerators that it was overwhelming. Ginger didn't think she had even seen most of these flavors before, but she was too drained to give much thought to it. She just picked out a plain can of Coke and approached the checkout counter.

The teenage cashier eyed Ginger coldly as she set the can of Coke on the counter, popping her gum as he ran up the soda using a machine Ginger had ever seen before.

"Can I get a can of gas as well?" Ginger asked the cashier.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." The cashier said."We don't do that anymore."

Ginger blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we haven't sold individual cans of gas in many years." The cashier said. "That will be four dollars for the Coke, by the way."

Ginger gritted her teeth when she heard the price. Where she came from, a can of Coke was only fifty cents. The owner of this gas station must have been one greedy son of a bitch.

But even with the outrageous price, Ginger was so desperate for a cold drink that she was willing to pay anything. She dug around her little crochet purse for her cash and counted out four dollar bills to hand to the cashier.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We don't accept cash here anymore." The cashier said, looking bored.

Ginger nearly recoiled.

"Well, if you don't take cash, how are people supposed to buy anything here?" She demanded.

The teenage cashier shot Ginger a look like she was a complete and utter idiot. "Debit card, ma'am."

Ginger was starting to grow upset now. She could even feel the tears form in the corners of her eyes by the minute.

Then a thought beamed into Ginger's head as if someone had placed it there, a question she didn't know why she needed to ask.

"What year is it?" Ginger asked.

The cashier continued to stare at Ginger like she was stupid for a few more moments before answering the question.

"It's 2025, Ma'am." The cashier said.

Ginger lurched back in shock. It was 2025, not 1969. Fifty six years later than when she had last checked.

Grace’s Spook Show

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