The Mile High Club

It all started on drizzly day in early Spring when Hagatha Shagnasty, local spinster librarian, sneezed on a golden honeydew at corner stall in the city market outside the Vernon M. Krueger Public Library and Museum.

Ms. Shagnasty purchased the melon, ate half for lunch (using precision cuts with a knife and spork) at exactly noon, and shared the remainer with Ms. Cookie Batard’s 6th grade class 30 minutes later during the banned book reading hour hosted by Ava Kadoo and The Sandwich Company.

Hagatha’s phone rang at 6:57pm, unknown caller. She answered anyway.

“Hello, this is Tim Flammer, I’m a computer programmer and I want to help you to hammer out any spammer,” came the voice on the other end.

“Not interested, you flimflammer,” Hagatha said without stammer and hung up with a clamor.

Hagatha turned on the 7pm news.

Tim Flammer called the next number on his list.

“Here we are with the parents of Birdie Fagel, 6th grade student at Prout Densley Middle School, Ms. Fagel what exactly happened here?” said onsite reporter Malachi Scoop from the bunney-eared television.

“One moment our dear sweet Birdie was playing her favorite game, Victorian Bloodbath, and the next she was three feet in the air,” said a sobbing mother through tears and a wet handkerchief.

“I see you’ve tied your daughter down,” said reporter Scoop.

“More like a balloon string, keeps her from floating too far away,” said a stoic Mr. Fagel, his arm around his wife.

“Any comment from you, Birdie,” Scoop held his microphone in the air.

“Ah, hell yeah, take that Zombie Bronte sisters!” and Birdie floated a little higher.

The scene cut back to the newsroom of two well-groomed anchors sitting behind a well-lit desk.

“There you have it folks, people around the city have started floating without explanation. So strange, Donna, I have to text my wife again,” said the male anchor.

“Oh, well, look at you Chuck, you’ve started floating. Isn’t that a hoot,” said the female anchor with a wide grin as Chuck’s feet dangled from the top of the screen.

Hagatha turned the television off, rolled over, unscrewed the lightbulb from socket, and dropped it to the floor.

It didn’t take scientist long to connect that any time anyone answered a text, made a phone call, played a game, downloaded an app, listened to music, checked email, posted to social media, browsed the internet aimlessly, or used any device considered “smart” the individual would float another inch in the air.

The United States President Aurelius Vain, after double checking his standings in the quarter term polls, declared a state of emergency banning the use of anything with wifi.

Many individuals followed the ban, tossing out their phones, laptops, and smart toasters. The ban was easiest for hermetic forest dwellers, but hardest on the social influencer community.

Top scientists determined a virus had spread through infected wifi channels; they knew if they worked diligently, stayed away from wifi, and traced the virus to its source they could create a vaccine.

People continued to rise in the air, only stopping when they reached 1.60934 kilometers in the air. It became common to see people chained to the ground, being fed pea soup through extremely long straws, or simply gripping the grass as hard as they can while their feet dangled above them.

Bottom scientists declared fake news and urged massive protests against the bans; they created signs touting conspiracy theories linking deep fake weather to biblical curses. No one could see their signs from that height.

Victims became known as the mile high club.

Two months went by and then there was a glimmer of hope. One Mr. Grant Ego, part time software developer and full time stalker, drifted slowly to the ground.

“How did you do it,” asked reporters.

“How did you do it,” asked scientists.

“How did you do it,” asked his mom.

“I dropped my phone and it broke,” said Mr. Ego.

People who followed the ban began to get used to not using their devices. They spent more time outside, learning new hobbies, and developing new habits. People were friendlier, happier, and more engaging.

“This stew is delicious!”

“Thank you, I made it from fresh herbs and vegetables I grew in my garden.”

“What is that you are looking at?”

“It’s a book. They have them over there at that building called Liberary.”

“Your relationship is so healthy.”

“Thanks, we talk every night before bed.”

Of course, a lot of people died. An estimated 71 million people died. Most of them died by succumbing to starvation, hypothermia, or falling rapidly to the ground from a mile high.

Global warming receded as human lungs cleared air pollution.

Bocce and Croquet became popular as people got healthier.

The middle class returned as people began to shop local.

People eventually forgot about wifi altogether.

Except for one scientist, Kreshnik Bir-Dooley, PhD, who finally isolated the contagious wifi-borne virus that devastated the globe. He published a paper detailing how the virus ate at the gravity surrounding a wifi user’s body.

Readers of Gravity Science of Tomorrow rated the article 4.7 out of 5.

“Did they ever make a vaccine,” asked a small child wearing a purple beanie.

“A vaccine was never developed because a vaccine was never needed,” said the tour guide who then waited for more questions.

None came.

“Alright then, thank you for joining us here at the Vernon M. Krueger Public Library and Museum. I’ve been your tour guide for the Mile High Pandemic Exhibit. Please help yourself to some complimentary golden honeydew on your way out.”