The creation of the Teleporter was a success. John Jackson, of no particular pedigree, with only a year of college to his credit and his best grade a ‘B’ in Technical writing, set down the Milky Way bar, and grasped the giant red handle that served as the ‘On’ switch. The first order of business was to visit the moon and bring back a moon rock for the girl who worked at Starbucks. She would have to go on a date with him if he gave her an honest to God moon rock. His arm barely completing the push of the handle upward, John’s last vision was the great, grey surface of the Moon, before he, and the contents of his room, was pulled out into the confines of the vacuum of space. He skidded across the surface like a stone skipping along a pond, until the air left his lungs, and his work desk crushed his head, and the hopes of one day making it to 3rd base.