George Costanza stood at the foot of the Empire State Building. He had just made a bet with Jerry for $80 that he could get to top of the building without tripping or falling at all. Looking up, it really was a tall building. George knew he could do it though. He got up and down the stairs to Jerry's flat every day, how could this be such a problem? He took a deep breath and rubbed hands together.
"Here goes nothing," George said, trying to convince himself that he was brave. "I'll prove Jerry wrong once and for all. Ha-ha!" He thrust the double doors open with utmost confidence.
"Take it easy there, cowboy," said a bystander who was just exiting. "I'm an architect," said George, annoyed. Turning towards the future, George saw two burly guards at the front desk. "I am an architect. I'm here to analyze the layout of this fine building for my next big project."
"Oh really. Where are you gonna be building this thing, architect?" said one of the guards, unamused.
"Yemen." George knew that question was coming. "So would it be any problem if I were to, say, escort myself to the top of this fine structure?"
"Sure thing, Yemen man." The guards chuckled to each other. George feigned laughter and walked briskly to the nearby elevator, pushing the up button with gusto.
"AAAAAA! Doesn't work that way, son. You need a fast pass to use the elevators." The guard said.
George shot them a confused look. "Can't you make an exception? I'm here on business." The guards did not respond. "Well, how much -"
"Eighty dollars."
"EIGHTY-" he glanced at the guards, who were both staring at him. "Alright. Alright. I'll take the stairs then. Though I may have to let the architects union know about this!" George made for the stairwell. "Oh yeah, how many floors are in this thing anyways?"
"Surprised an architect of your expertise wouldn't know. Hey, maybe you count. There are 15.4 steps per floor. Have a whale of a time." The guards sniggered to each other.
George rolled his eyes and kept walking. "I can't believe this. No respect for architects these days, huh? Ah, whatever. There are probably like 10, 15 floors? Piece a cake for Ole Costanza." What George didn't know is that he'd be climbing stairs for the next seven hours. He'd pass by many people, but none of them would bother to help, or even to cheer him on as he traversed the monolith that was the ESB.
The clock struck 8 PM and George was very ready to give up. For $50, he probably would have quit, but $80 was just enough to make it worthwhile. But Lo! Ahead he saw, right there on the wall–
"ROOF ACCESS"
"Oh thank god! Ha-ha! No injuries, Jerry! Easiest 80 I ever made!" This was a feat for George. Not only was it the most physical activity he had ever gotten, it was also the first time he had won a bet against his best friend Jerry Seinfeld. Well, it would be after this last flight. George stretched his hamstrings briefly before the beginning of the end. There looked to be about 15.4 steps between him and victory. 14. 13. 10. 6. 5. 3.4–and then tragedy struck. As if the hand of the Latvian Orthodox God pushed him over, George fell over, and bruised both of his knees on the final step to victory. "Ohhh, Ugh." He muttered some obscenities and blasphemes under his breath. He pulled himself up the final step and reached up to the doorknob. He was able to just barely get it open and roll out onto the concrete roof just in time for sunset.
Breathing heavily, George smiled, spread eagle on the ground. "I did it. I did it!" He took some well-deserved time to just relax with his eyes closed.
George opened his eyes but saw nothing but blackness, and heard nothing but very distant car noises. He sat up. "Oh, what the hell," George grimaced, holding his knees in his hands. "What time is it?"
"3:43 AM" George looked up to find the source of the male voice. It was too dark to make out, but it looked like a large figure was lounging on one of those chairs you might see at a public pool. George tried to stand up but felt a sharp pain in his knees and dropped back down.
"You need to get those washed, or they might get infected." The lounger didn't even turn around.
"Wh-who are you anyway? Why are we still up here this late? Wouldn't security have kicked us out by now?"
"The name's Buzz. Buzz Lightyear. We're still up here because I didn't want to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully. And security has no idea we're here. I locked the door."
"Why..why would you do that?"
"Well, I...I heard you were an architect." Buzz stood up from the chair and turned to face George.
"Uh, yes! I sure am. I also dabble in marine biology, but we don't have to talk about that. Actually, I'd prefer that we didn't. So may I assume that you're also a member of the architects union?"
"No, no, I'm just a fan of the profession." George found Buzz's deep voice somehow soothing.
"Right, well, always happy to meet a fan. Anyways, I better get home. I have 80 big ones waiting for me. Oh shit. Oh shit!" George rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"What is it George Costanza? Those knees bothering you?"
"No! Well yes, kind of. I..I made a bet. My friend Jerry said I couldn't climb to the top of the Empire State Building without falling at all! But with these knee injuries he's going to notice right away! Oh, my $80!"
"I'm from space, George. And I think you're worth a hell of a lot more than eighty dollars. You didn't have to bother climbing the ESB. I'll pay you 200 to do it right here, right now."
"You're from space? Wh-where's you're spaceship? I've always wanted to see a spaceship."
"I'll show you my spaceship as long as you show me your spaceship."
"Buzz, what the hell are you talking about? You're the one from space. I got a 1983 Chrysler LeBaron down in the parking lot if that's what ya mean. Hey...what are you doing over there?"
George watched as the shadowy form of Lightyear removed his rather bulky spacesuit. George wondered why he was still wearing at all, since it probably wasn't very comfortable to wear on a lounge chair.
"Oh just, getting comfortable, that's no problem. I'm an architect, so I understand."
"That reminds me." Buzz bent down to his discarded spacesuit and rummaged around for a bit, producing some ointment. "Here, this should help with the knees. But I'm sure you're tired. Let me help apply it." Buzz knelt down in front of George and rubbed some ointment on his hands. "Hold still."
"Ooh ahh." George bit his thumb to stop the noise.
"Relax," said Buzz, "And don't move so much."
Buzz was still wearing purple gloves, but somehow the contact through the ointment still felt so sensual. At this distance, George finally was able to get a good look at his caretaker's face. It was long, and not very human-looking. His eyes were strangely close to the top of his head, his nose was perfectly shaped, and his petite mouth was in just about the center of his face. The rest was all chin, with a hole in the middle that George couldn't take his eyes off. The application of the ointment only lasted about 40 seconds, but to the men involved it felt like it lasted for eons.
"Thank you Buzz. My knees feel so much better. It's like I never even fell!" George stood up and did two half hearted jumping jacks.
"That's because this is space ointment, George. It can heal any injury in mere seconds."
"Heh. Why don't they sell this stuff at the K-Mart?" The audience laughs. "Well, you've really helped me out Buzz. Now, it's getting late. If you don't mind, could I get a ride on that spaceship of yours?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Buzz flashed two hundred dollar bills. "I'll take you to infinity and beyond. Now come and lay face up on this lounge chair."
