Half-way to the Stars

[JMR: Warning, this definitely treads the edges of being too intimate to print.]

As he awoke, the familiarly unfamiliar weight on his left arm was pleasant, if light, and he rolled over to cuddle with his bride without opening his eyes, nuzzling the back of her neck. Momentum carried him a bit further than he was used to, and they floated together above the bed for a moment before sinking lightly back.

He kissed her nape.

"Mmm. Tickles." She shivered and squeezed his hand. "Nice."

A sharp odor that seemed like it ought to be familiar assailed his nostrils. Fireworks? Gunpowder?

He opened his eyes. Through the veil of her hair, the darkness, pinpricked with tiny lights, in contrast with the painfully brilliant silvery glow in which the bed itself was bathed, also seemed tantalizingly familiar and at the same time unfamiliar. He wondered in his mellow thoughts why he didn't remember the yellow-white desert landscape wallpaper motif visible around them, then rolled over on his back and contemplated the blue, green, brown, and white crescented light fixture floating above their bed, as the oddly excess momentum caused him to bounce lightly again.

"More!"

His bride's demands took priority over thoughts about design motifs, and he lost consciousness of his surroundings again for a time.

"You are such a romantic!"

He awoke again, floating on his back. In the darkness, he could trace the outline of his bride's body against the glow of the brilliant pinpricks in the darkness around them, where she was sitting up, firmly gripping the bed fabric with one hand, humming the tune of the song he had serenaded her with the evening before as he carried her across the threshold of their apartment.

The brilliant glow illuminating the bed was gone, along with the landscapes, and the light fixture above was apparently extinguished, all replaced with the surreal black darkness and its brilliant pinprick lights, dusted in places with glimmering clouds of shining silver. The view reminded him of the night sky viewed from some rare place on earth where city lights were absent, but the configurations didn't quite match constellations he knew.

"Romantic?"

"Which is to say, ...," she began singing, then stopped. "But there's a small problem."

"What's that?"

"What does one do, halfway to the stars?"

Realization drifted into his mind, and he chuckled as he sat up carefully, holding onto the bed with one hand, and wrapped his free arm around her again.

"I guess we go back. Next stop Jupiter?"

"We could."

"What stars did you take us halfway to?"

"The nearest triple, whose name no one seems to agree on."

"Makes sense. What are we breathing?"

"Unimportant details. Ready to go?"

"We get to come back?"

"I think it's up to you, if can we ever get another break like this."

"We'll claim parental leave."

"Considering who the boss is, I'm sure we can do that. I've waited so long."

"We've waited."

[JMR: I'm considering using this for the honeymoon scene for one of my paranormal love story novels. But of course there are details that would have to change.]

[JMR201909121359: Heh. Misheard lyrics: "let me play ...". Maybe I should fix that. But then I'll have to write whole new lyrics to avoid attracting copyright lawyers with nothing better to do:

We'll fly to the hinter moon or maybe twice as far,
Tour the inner planets, or go halfway to the stars.
When two are so happy together there is nothing they can't do.
Which is to say, I love you.

I'll have to write another verse or two later. For now, this should do.
]

De-mo ne! (Yabuts)

[This is a scratch chapter of A Heathen in the Kingdom of Peace. Parts of it may find their way into the novel, maybe not as I've written it here.]

Jeremy: It translates roughly as "Yabut".

Spring Moon: "Yah-baht"?

Hailey: "Yeah, but".
  Or, "Yes, but,"
  Followed by some defense of one's own opinions.
  And if that's what it means,
  I agree with your mother and the teachers.
  Jeremy does this all the time.
  "De-mo ne." Hah. It even sounds yabutty.

Jeremy: I do not say that.

Hailey: Not in so many words,
  but you're always adding information people don't want.

No response for a moment.

Spring Moon: Extra information.
  That might be what my mother was talking about.

Jeremy: You know, Hailey, when you accuse me of things like this,
  it presents me with a dilemma.

Spring Moon: Di-lemma. Two horns ....
  So what are the two horns?

Hailey: I'm not accusing you of anything.
  I'm just stating facts.
  You do this.

Jeremy: More than two horns.
  And I'm not admitting I do it,
  but what if I do?
  What's wrong with adding missing information?

Hailey: It's usually not missing stuff.
  It's stuff they don't want.
  If they wanted it they would have asked,
  and they usually know it anyway.

Jeremy: Acknowledge it when you're speaking for yourself.
  And maybe you only think you know it.

Spring Moon: I'm sorry, but I'm lost.
  What are we talking about now?

Hailey: What people usually want is not more information.
  A simple yes or no would suffice.

Jeremy: More like a simple yes,
  and an apology for disagreeing with you,
  or for not meeting your expectations,
  or for disappointing you.

Hailey: An apology would be nice sometimes.

Jeremy: Even when it could only be said in irony?
  The original meaning of the word, by the way,
  is "explanation".

Hailey: See, you're doing it again.
  And apologetic is not apology.

Jeremy: The etymology offers clues.
  And "I'm sorry! I'll never do it again,"
  is usually a pretty poor excuse for an apology.

Hailey: Now you're just being clever.

Spring Moon: I think I see something here,
  and it might relate to what my mom was saying.

Jeremy: Ack. Pun not intentional.
  Uhm, this time. Heh.
  Pretty clever, if it had been.

Hailey: Sick.
  You really need to see a therapist.

Spring Moon: Uhm, can I call a time-out?

Hailey: No.

Jeremy: Yes. This isn't getting us anywhere.

Silence for a few moments.

Jeremy: Can I try again?

Hailey: Maybe.

Jeremy: "I'll never do it again."
  should be a promise reserved for things that were truly wrong.
  Don't you think?

Hailey: Sometimes you say some pretty offensive things.

Jeremy: You say things that offend me, too.
  If we forever tiptoe around each other, how can we communicate?
  How do we even figure out what we are saying and doing
  to offend each other?

Hailey: I can't believe you don't know.

Jeremy: If I did, I could really promise not to do it again.
  I don't. That's the problem.
  We're from different backgrounds.
  We can't know everything that's offensive to each other
  before it is even said.

Hailey: Sometimes it just hurts too much.
  Besides, all these teachers you work with get offended too.
  It's not just me.

Jeremy: Not all of them.

Spring Moon: Some of the teachers have no problems with Jeremy.
  Some really like his work.

Hailey: That's hard to hear from my rival.

Spring Moon: I am not your rival.

Jeremy: She is not your rival.
  If anyone is your rival, it would be Spring Moon's mother.

Spring Moon: Jeremy! I didn't know you were into older women!
  Just kidding.

Jeremy: I mean, if there's someone here working against Hailey.

Hailey: That's an awkward metaphor.
  I'll admit it's eloquent, but it's also awkward.

Jeremy: Point taken.

Spring Moon: Such an expression can be called a metaphor?

Hailey: Yeah. Metaphor.
  Sorry, Spring Moon.
  But I can't help see you as my rival.
  You're over there with him, and I'm not.
  And you're beautiful, too.

Spring Moon: And you're beautiful, too.
  Jeremy is definitely not just being kind when he tells you that.

Hailey: Oh!
  Ouch.
  Thanks, even though it hurts a bit to hear you say it.

Spring Moon: I understand, but I hope you believe me.
  Jeremy is true to you,
  and it would hurt him if I tried to take him away from you.

Jeremy: Your mother, Spring Moon, ...

Spring Moon: Yes?

Jeremy: treats me the same way as some of the teachers.

Spring Moon: How is that?

Jeremy: Like a little kid.
  No, that's not quite what I mean.
  Blank slate.
  Like they think I'm their empty book
  that they get to write whatever they want in.

Hailey: Wouldn't that be the junior-senior relationship thing?

Spring Moon: Well, these are experienced teachers.
  You're job is basically a paid teaching assistant position.
  So, sure, they see it as their duty
  to teach you how to teach in the Kingdom of Peace.

Hailey: Uh oh. I can see how this plays out.

Spring Moon: Oh?

Hailey: Jeremy has a bit of philosophy and a lot of pride.

Jeremy: I'm an experienced teacher, too.
  I thought the teachers all knew that.

Spring Moon: But your position is an entry-level position.
  And your experience is in the UIS, not in the Kingdom of Peace.
  And some of them disagree strongly with your philosophies.

Hailey: And it may be your book,
  but those are their pages.
  Aren't they?

Jeremy: I'm trying to work with each one of them
  according to the way they teach.
  But they assume I'm something I'm not.
  They leave out information I need
  and get focused on telling me things I already know.

Several moments of silence.

Jeremy: I understand the rote techniques most of them rely on too much. 
  I myself use them when necessary.
  And they are the lead teachers.
  The classrooms are their responsibility.
  I try to follow their lead when I can see how.
  But I need more information to understand what they are doing.

Hailey: Is there some reason you aren't getting the information?

Spring Moon: How could they give you the information?

Jeremy: Planning the lessons together would help.

Hailey: I have the same problem, I guess.
  But I can usually discuss enough in the few minutes
  before and after class.

Jeremy: How about the male teachers you work with?

Hailey: I don't have any.
  Is there that much difference?

Spring Moon: There sure would be here.

Jeremy: Besides, I'm focused on the students before and after class.

Spring Moon: How much time?

Jeremy: Ideally, an hour total.

Jeremy thinks for a moment.

Jeremy: But I guess I'd take even five or ten minutes
  to talk about the next topic,
  and five or ten minutes
  to discuss the plan before we go into class.
  Too often I don't even get that.

Hailey: That's not unreasonable.
  Do you have your full portfolio with you?
  Have you shown them all your tools?

Jeremy: They don't give me time,
  don't allow my computer in most of the schools.
  I have to guess and print sample worksheets ahead of time.
  And pay for the ink and paper myself.

Spring Moon: I should have invited my mother to this chat.

Hailey: But I'd have to pretend not to be here.

Spring Moon: I'll see if I can pass that much on.
  And not mention Hailey.

Jeremy: Sorry. Let's not do that.
  I've been talking with the headmasters at the schools,
  and they're trying to help.
  So I think I should just ask for real planning time.
  Thanks, Spring Moon.

Spring Moon: Sure.

Jeremy: You, too, Hailey.

Hailey: You bet.
  Hope you can work it out.

Fer Rude!

(For the record, this takes place on the planet Xhilr, and the church referred to here is often called E-P-ist, and is similar to, but not the same as, the church often called Mormon or LDS of the planet Earth.)

Sister Jones (Bishop's 1st counselor): Okay, the Bishop's Quorum has good news. Your plans for a back-to-school dinner date night for our little congregation next week have been approved. So you all can put it on your schedules.

Marta (Activities Committee Female Representative): Now remember, all of us on the committee should consider it our special duty to have dates. Girls--

Frank (Activities Committee member): Wait. If we guys say "girls", everybody gets down on us.

Samuel (Activities Committee Male Representative): If the women want to call themselves girls, that's their business.

Harry (Activities Committee member): I call discriminatory practices.

Sister Jones: Knock it off, guys.

Marta: Thank you, Counselor Jones. Now, girls, don't be too choosy when guys ask. Guys, you who are on the committee should go out of your way to ask someone who is not on the committee. In fact, ask someone you wouldn't usually ask. We want everyone in our singles' congregation there.

---

Frank: I'm going to show you how this is done. I'm going to go ask Chrissy.

Martin (Not a member of the committee): She's out of your league.

Harry: They told us to ask people we wouldn't usually ask, didn't they?

Frank: Got that right.

(Fist bumps all around.)

Frank: Okay, here goes.

(Frank joins a group of three women.)

Frank: (Deep breath. Gulp.) Uhm. Hi, Chrissy.

Chrissy: Mmm ... uhh, Hello, uhm, Paul, right?

Frank: Uh, er, Frank, actually.

Chrissy: Oh, sorry. Right. Frank de Lucca, right?

Frank: Well, not really. Wright.

Chrissy: Right?

Frank: Wright.

Chrissy: Right. Well, what can I do for you, Br. de Lucca?

Frank: Uhm, Wright.

Chrissy: Right, so what can I do for you?

Frank: Oh ... never mind.

(Frank returns dejectedly to the group of men.)

Chrissy: How rude!

Sarah (not a member of the committee): What was that all about?

Chrissy: I thought for sure he was going to ask me to the Autumn Dinner Date.

Jayne (not a member of the committee): Me, too. But he just turned around and walked away.

Chrissy: Without saying what he wanted or anything.

All three in chorus: Fer rude!

(Frank rejoins the other two men.)


Martin: That was brutal.

Harry: She wouldn't even let you tell her your name.

Frank: I'm mortally wounded!

(Harry and Martin laugh.)

Harry: Nah, just ask someone in your own league.

Martin: There's Sam. What's he up to?

(Sam joins the girls)

Sam: Ah, Jayne. Do you remember me from religion class last year?

Jayne: Uhm, hang on, Fred Weatherton?

Sarah: Pfft.

Sam (laughing): No, Sam. Wentworth.

Jayne (shaking her head): Sorry, don't remember.

Sarah: You don't remember Sam?

Jayne (shaking her head): No ...

Sam: Hmm. Well, maybe I shouldn't ask, then.

Chrissy: Ask her what?

Sam: You know, the Back-to-School Autumn Dinner Date next weekend, and the Activities Committee members have to ask someone they haven't really been out with.

Sarah: Yeah. That is kind of awkward.

Jayne: Oh, well, hey, where are you from?

Sam: Sunflower State. I think you told me you were from the Cactus State, didn't you?

Jayne: Wait. I remember. You're on the swimming team, right?

Sam: Yeah. Majoring in computers and education.

Jayne: Oh, yeah. You were writing an educational game based on stories in the Book of E P.

Sam: That's me!

Jayne: Did you ever finish?

Sam: About halfway. My teacher gave me credit and suggested I pick it back up in graduate work.

Jayne: Cool. Yeah. Well, the Dinner Date would be okay with me, if you wouldn't mind going with a girl who forgot you.

Sam: Thanks. This did have me kind of worried.

Sarah: I can see why.

Chrissy: Hmm. So, those three guys over there, are they on the Activities Committee, too?

Sam: Well, Harry Porter and Frank Wright are. Not Martin Mars, though.

Chrissy: Frank Wright?

Jayne: Oops.

Chrissy: That's his name? He was in my Karate class last year, and we sparred sometimes.

Jayne: Frank de Lucca?

Chrissy: Maybe there were two Franks in the class.

Sarah (laughing): Hey, Frank Wright, get back over here!

Frank: Huh?

(Frank tries to hide behind Martin, just as Marta comes up behind him.)

Marta: Hi, guys. You're being called, Frank.

Frank: Shhh!

Marta: How about if we all go over together. It'll be less scary.

Frank: Uhm ...

Harry: Okay.

(Marta and the men join the group of women and Sam.)

Chrissy: I'm sorry I forgot your name, Br. Wright. Was there a Frank de Lucca in the Karate class last year?

Frank: Yeah. He's my friend. We joined the class together.

Chrissy: Did I ever call you Paul?

Frank: Maybe.

Chrissy: I was a little nervous, you see.

Frank: You were nervous? My tongue gets stuck sometimes.

Chrissy (laughing): I say things without thinking.

Frank: Uhm. Well, ... Can I ask you to the Dinner Date next weekend, then?

Chrissy: I'd love to go with you!

Martin: Well, since we're all friendly, Sarah, could I ask you to go?

Sarah: Oh, I'm sorry, Martin, I'm busy that night.

Martin: What? You can't already have plans that night. I mean, you're not working or something, are you?

Sarah: Drama club meeting.

Martin: But, but, you have to cancel the meeting. Move the time up earlier.

Sarah: Fat chance of that. And the more you talk that way, the less likely I am to ever go out with you.

Martin: Just joking.

Sarah: Not a joke I like.

Martin: Sorry.

Sarah: Maybe I'll forgive you, but forgiving doesn't mean going out, got it?

Martin: Wow. Uhm. Got it.

Marta: Well, it's about lunchtime, who's going to the cafeteria?

Martin: But don't tell anyone I asked you, okay? I don't want somebody thinking she was my second choice.

Jayne: Our lips are sealed. Let's go for lunch.

E-P-ist Millionaire Seeking Wife

Joseph Daniel Zukiger looked at the pimple-faced reflection in the mirror and sighed. Six months spending half of every working day with a nutritionist, a physical trainer, a personal coach, a hair stylist, a dermatologist, and an image specialist to clean up all his social bumps, and one full day back on the job had wrought havoc on all that had been accomplished.

Of course it wasn't the emergency eight-hour shift he had worked that had really wrought the havoc. It was the opera in the evening. The opera was quite good, but the woman he had spent the last month courting, one Millicent Alfreda Porsche, had not appreciated his vocal appreciation of the cast and chorus's work.

He wasn't the only one standing, whistling, calling, "Olé". But she had been quite put out about it. Not even willing to discuss whether the performance was good enough for him to cheer so vocally.

The (very expensive) dinner after and the chauffeured trip to her apartment had been an exercise in arctic exploration. He assumed she was putting pressure on him to apologize for the scene he had made and promise not to repeat it.

His mother had spies in the audience, in the five-star restaurant, and even watching outside her apartment. So, rather than return home where she would be waiting on the phone to analyze the entire evening, he had told his chauffeur to take him back to work, where he joined his core staff diving into the bug he had left half fixed so he could go on the date. And they had fixed it. At some cost to his complexion and his suit.

He supposed he was disappointed for all the specialists he had hired, disappointed for the professional matchmaker, too.

Mostly he was disappointed for his mom. She had so many expectations and none of them were coming to fruition. She wanted grandchildren, and what she had was a pimply, socially awkward, single, adult son with a successful business and enough profits safely invested away to retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life -- as long as the economy didn't suddenly go belly-up.

His parents hadn't wanted the new house or the new car he had suggested. They wanted grandkids and a daughter-in-law.

But for himself, he wasn't disappointed at all. One more gold-digger retired. He was much more comfortable with all his personality bumps, edges, and awkwardnesses showing. And his opinion, not well accepted with his mother, was that any woman who would be persuaded by the artificial changes would be a woman he would not want to spend a whole lot of time with, much less the rest of eternities.

So he pulled off his suit and shirt, threw them over the back of his chair, set the alarm for 10:00 AM, gave a moment of appreciation to taking in the beautiful sunrise outside his window, and fell into his bed. He was unconscious before he hit the mattress.

---

At 10:15, he walked into the office in his wrinkled suit and without his tie, whistling "Let It Go" and grinning. All his staff cheered. James, his office manager and chief of sales, returned his grin and said, "Welcome back."

Sherry, his partner and second-in-command smiled broadly and gave him a thumbs up. She was also running on three hours of sleep, and looked it.

The door opened behind him and the cheering suddenly faded. He stopped whistling and turned around, his shoulders slumping.

"Joseph, I am disappointed."

"Mom, --"

From behind her, Jenny, his personal coach, a cheerful dancer of modern dance, interrupted. "Sister Zukiger, I'm not sure this is even a setback."

More than once, he had wished his personal coach were not already married.

"Quiet. I am taking charge now."

Something inside was rising, but he automatically suppressed it. Habit long in-grained took care of any rebellious thoughts.

From out in the hall, Sheliah, the matchmaker said, "I think it's time for a new plan."

Without thinking, he said, "Okay, what's your plan?"

In the sudden silence, you could have heard a feather drop, if his mother had worn one of her hats that shed feathers.

But she hadn't today.

She remembered to close her mouth and turned toward the door. "Yes. What's your new plan?" Surprisingly, her voice was neither querulous nor sarcastic. A collective sigh of relief could be felt, if not heard.

"Reality TV. A contest. E-P-ist millionaire seeking wife."

Mentally, Joseph Daniel Zukiger put palm to forehead. But his mother had turned around, raising an eyebrow. It looked like she wanted him to agree.

Behind her, Sheliah was nodding, with a finger to her lips, and Jenny gave him a wink.

"Oh, whatever." He raised his hands in the air. "I need to make sure the bug we squashed a few hours ago will remain squashed, so all of my training sessions this morning are cancelled. Everybody take a day off."

His mother stood, arms akimbo, frowning.

"Okay, Mom, tomorrow morning. Sheliah can tell us about her plan then."

His mother thought for a moment, then nodded. "Eight o'clock, sharp." Then she turned and left. Jenny and Sheliah waved cheerfully and followed her.

He retired into the server room to check the last three hours' worth of logs, and Sherry joined him. "Maybe all this training isn't going to waste. You stood up to your mother today."

"Sort-of."

"It's a good start. Look at the transaction roll-back logs."

"What roll-back logs?"

"That's the point."

"Uh-oh, there should be something there for three hours worth of business." We dug in.

---

This conversation on the LDS Beta Readers FaceBook group talking about the person calling himself a Mormon  millionaire, proposing to find his wife by advertising on billboards and running what is essentially a contest was the spark for the flash piece:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/475461645922698/permalink/1552836624851856/

It looks like it may turn into a novel: https://joelrees-novels.blogspot.com/2019/05/jdz-millionaire-the-campaign-idea.html

And this is the flash piece as I originally posted it in the LDSBR FB group:

---

Joseph Daniel Zukiger looked at the pimple-faced reflection in the mirror and sighed. Six months with a nutritionist, a physical trainer, a personal coach, a hair stylist, and an image specialist to clean up all those social bumps, and one full day back on the job had wrought havoc on all that had been accomplished.

He was disappointed for all the specialists he had hired, disappointed for the professional matchmaker, too. Mostly he was disappointed for his mom. She had so many expectations and none of them were coming to fruition. She wanted grandchildren, and what she had was a pimply, socially awkward single adult son with a successful business and enough profits safely invested away to retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life -- as long as the economy didn't suddenly go belly-up.

His parents hadn't wanted the new house or the new car he had suggested. They wanted grandkids and a daughter-in-law.

But he wasn't disappointed for himself. He was simply more comfortable with all the personality bumps, edges, and awkwardness.

---

So he pulled off his shirt, set the alarm for 10:00 AM, took a look out the window at the beautiful sunrise, and fell into his bed. He was unconscious before he hit the mattress.

---

At 10:15, he walked into his office in his wrinkled suit, whistling "Let It Go" and grinning. All his staff cheered. James, his office manager and chief of sales, said, "Welcome back."

Sherry, his second in the software department gave him a thumbs up.

The door opened behind him and the cheering suddenly faded. He stopped whistling and turned around, his shoulders slumping.

"Joseph, I am disappointed."

"Mom, --"

From behind her, Jenny, his personal coach, a cheerful dancer of modern dance, interrupted. "Sister  Zukiger, I'm not sure this is even a setback."

More than once, he had wished his personal coach were not already married.

"Quiet. I am taking charge now."

Something inside was rising, but he automatically suppressed it. Habit long in-grained took care of any rebeliuos thoughts.

From out in the hall, Sheliah, the matchmaker said, "I think it's time for a new plan."

Without thinking, he said, "Okay, what's your plan?"

In the sudden silence, you could have heard a feather drop, if any hats had been dropping feathers.

His mother remembered to close her mouth and turned toward the door. "Yes. What's your new plan?" Her voice was neither querilous nor sarcastic. A collective sigh of relief could be heard.

"Reality TV. A contest. E-P-ist millionaire seeking wife."

Close Holidays? 祝日に近いもの？祝日を閉めるべし？

Hal: Look at that sign!
[あの標識見てよ。]

Kay: Sign? What sign?
[標識？何の標識]

Hal: On that store.
[あの店の。]

Bee: Business hours. So what?
[営業時間。それで？]

Hal: But it's wrong!
[間違っているよ!]

Kay: ”Ten to Twenty-two.” That's ten o' clock in the morning to ten at night. But today's a Holiday, so today doesn't count.
["10:00~22:00." 朝の10時から夜の10時までやで。だけど今日は祝日。今日は別やな。]

Bee: See? It even says, "Close holidays."
[見て見、 "Close holidays" まで書いてある。]

Hal: That's the point!
[そうよ。そのことや。]

Bee: What's the point? It's a holiday. It's closed.
[なんだ。祝日だ。閉店。]

Hal: Like you say. It's "closed". C L O S E D. Not close like a command to shut the door. Not close like nearby. Closed. Past participle as an adjective.
[おっしゃる通り。「閉店され」ている。 C L O S E Dやで。ドアを閉めろの命令でも、近くに居るわけでもない。「閉鎖中」。過去分詞が形容詞の役を。]

Kay: Okay, so it should say "Opened", too, then?
[まあ、そういうなら、 "Opened" とも書いてあるはずやん。]

Hal: No, of course not. Open can be either an adjective or a verb.
[まさか。ちゃうねん。 Open だって、動詞でも形容詞でも活躍する。]

Bee: We-ell, so can close.
[じゃあっ、 close もそうだ。]

Hal: Not when you pronounce it with a "z" sound, it can't! It's the "s" sound when it's an adjective. Right?
[イヤイヤ、ザ行の「ズ」の場合はできない。形容詞の場合はサ行の「ス」やんか。]

Kay: So maybe they meant the "s" sound when they made the sign.
[なら、標識を使ったのは 「ス」の発音のつもりだったのかな?]

Hal: But "close" as an adjective means "nearby", not "closed".
[それでは、形容詞の "close" は「近くに」の意味なはず。「閉鎖中」ではありません。]

Matsu: Hi. I own this store. May I help you?
[今日は。僕、この店の持ち主しておりますが、何れ御用に役に立てませんでしょう？]

Hal: Huh?
[ハァ？]

Matsu: I stay close by the store on holidays, you see.
[休日は、ごらんの通り、いつも近くに居ります。]

Hal: Oh. Uh. I was just --
[ァ！あの、ただ…]

Bee: Yeah, actually, you carry hobby stuff, right?
[まあ、ほんなら、ホビー類のご取扱いですね。]

Matsu: That's right.
[さよ。]

Bee: Do you have electronics?
[電子系は置いてありますか?]

Matsu: We only stock some basic parts and kits, but we can order things like special parts for the Pi and Arduino, and op-amps, just about anything. And we have workbenches with oscilloscopes and other tools that you can rent by the hour.
[在庫は基本部品とキットだけですが、大体何でも注文できます。たとえば、パイやアルデュイーノの特別部品やオペアンプなど。それに、作業台やオシロスコープなどの道具を時間ごとの貸し出しをさせていただきます。]

Kay: Cool.
[かっこええ]

Matsu: Lots of people take a fancy to doing hobbies on the holidays, so I stay close by on the holiday.
[いろんなお客様は休日になったら、気まぐれでも趣味にかかわりたいことを思い出してくれるのでございます。ですから、近くに居ることにしております。]

Hal: Well, ... well, ... then you should say, "close by" or something, because "close" looks like you just made a mistake.
[で…は…それだったら、 "close by" とかでも言うべきではないでしょう？ "Close" と言っているのはただの間違いのようですから。]

Matsu: Hmm. Maybe so. I guess I could go 3-D print a new sign pretty easily. "Close by"?
[まあ、もしかしてそう。新しい標識をまあまあ簡単に３次元印刷でもできないことないし。]

Hal: Uhm, maybe, "Available", instead. Or, "Ring the bell." You need more explanation.
[えぇっと、もしかして、その代わりに「利用可能」とか「お呼び出し下さい。」とか、もっと説明したらいいと思う。]

Bee: Do you have the latest Pi that we could look at?
[ちなみに、パイの最新型が在庫、見せていただけません？]

Matsu: Sure, do you want to come in?
[きっと。中へとあがって下さい。]

---

Kay: This is cool stuff! EPROM burners and programmable logic programmers, debug harness, circuit design software, ...
[格好ええ！イープロムや変更可回路の書き込み機、デバッグようのインターフェース、回路設計ソフト…]

Bee: Yeah. All that stuff that we always thought we had to use Brain-Semi's CPUs running TinyAlgorithms operating systems to do.
[な！一昔、「超小型手順社」の操作体系が「脳半導体社」の中央演算処理装置で動いていなかったら無理だと思った色んなものですね。]

Hal: You guys always teased me for not using that stuff everybody's been brainwashed into believing was industry standard.
[あんたらいつもバカにしてくれたんやな、だいたい皆が洗脳され、企業の標準と思っているものを使わない俺を。]

Matsu: Excuse me, but could I ask your opinions?
[もうしわけないけど、ご意見を聞かしていただけませんでしょう?]

Bee: Oh. New signs. Designed on the Pi.
[アっ。新しい標識だ。パイ上で設計をされ。]

Hal: Yep. He made them on the Pi.
[やっぱり。パイ上で作ってる。]

Kay: Looks good to me.
[よさそう。]

Bee: Me, too.
[ぼくも賛成。]

Matsu: Which do you like best?
[どちらがお気に入りですか？]

Hal: The last one is kind of plain. I think I prefer "call us about".
[後方がなんと地味なように感じます。"Call us about" の方がベスト、かな？]

Bee: I like "Available" best.
[ぼくは "Available" の方がいい。]

Kay: I like 'em all. Which looks good to you?
[どちもええと思う。どうですか。]

Matsu: Hmm ...
[まあ…]

[JMR20190529:
You know, thinking this over, I'm probably the odd man out here. If the sign in the store says "CLOSED" or "CLOSE", we know what it means, and, even among native speakers, people who care whether the past participle is used or not are probably in the minority.
良く考えると、はみ出ているやつはこの俺かも知れません。標識には "CLOSED" と書いてあっても "CLOSE" と書いてあってもわかるし、ネイティヴで英語しゃべる人の中でも、過去分詞の使い方に気を掛ける人がそれほどでもないようです。

In many countries where the majority do not natively speak English, you will find the grammar in such signs is not the (currently) correct grammar. That usage is now entering the US and the UK proper, simply because it is easier to think of "CLOSE" as the opposite of "OPEN". And lots of people outside those two countries are doing it that way, and few travelers ever take the time to mention why the grammar is wrong.
生まれながら英語でしゃべる人が小半数の国には、こういう標識に現れる文法が（つまり現在の）標準文法から外れていることに気が付くでしょう。この "OPEN" と "CLOSE" の非標準文法が英米に逆流し始めている様子が見えます。やはり、 "CLOSE" が "OPEN" の反対だと、簡単に考えられ、英米の国の国境を超えるところにはそのままが多いのです。どうして文法が間違っているかを説明する旅行者が多く居ません。

Anyway.
さて、と。]