Imagine, if you will, a day in the life of a working man. A man who saves every penny so he can enjoy an early retirement. However, a mere day in the life wouldn't reap the rewards of the endgame, thus the working man works for it, and continues to work for it to such an extent that he may work himself into an early grave.


Mr. Smith is on the commute home from the bank after making a hefty withdrawal. His life savings, to be more precise, some odd hundred thousand dollars. He doesn't have a care in the world, but a celebration can only go so far as the vehicle's capacity, and the vehicle needs gas.

As luck would have it, Mr. Smith finds himself in the proximity of a local gas station. The price lists $3.49, which by yesterday's standards is an outrage. Sure, Mr. Smith can afford it, but he elects not to. Just because you can doesn't mean you should, in his miserly opinion. There are far better things to spend one's earnings on, and Mr. Smith thinks about these things regularly, because he's a 66-year-old man, and he just retired.

Enter the runaway vehicle. A plot device that can be substituted by various more plausible scenarios in the immediate vicinity, but for the sake of this tale, the turnabout comes in the form of a school bus. The vehicle collides with Mr. Smith's modest automotive, sending Mr. Smith spiraling into a coma.

"Oh no!" Mr. Smith shouts as he sits up in his hospital bed, "Not my modest automotive!"

The nurses call the doctors and try to calm the disoriented man.

"How long was I out?" he panics as the realization of his accident sets in.

"A week," says the nurse, "It's a miracle you survived. You suffered various injuries, such as..."

Mr. Smith pays no attention to the trivial babblings of a trained professional, opting instead to consider his time frame. "I'm rich!" he cheers, ripping the IV's out and disconnecting himself from the equipment as he sits up and tries to stand. Muscle atrophy has set in, but Mr. Smith disregards this as he crawls out of the hospital room with a big smile on his face, ready to reap the rewards he's worked his whole life for.

After a gradual period of readjustment, Mr. Smith has wobbled his way into the lobby, struck by the notion of an impulse buy. "I sure am hungry," he says, eying the nearby vending machine. He pulls out his wallet. From where, we do not know. As he is about to tender the appropriate amount of cash, he is astounded at the cost. "A 1-ounce bag of chips should never cost this much," he decries, putting his wallet away, "I may be rich, but I'm no sucker!"

Mr. Smith storms out of the lobby in his hospital gown as everyone can see his wallet, tucked tightly between his ass cheeks. Leaving the site of a price gouging would seem therapeutic, though nevertheless, his dilemma was only beginning.

"Hey man," intrudes one of various beggars about the lot, "Gimme a hundred dollars."

"A hundred dollars?" Mr. Smith gasps, "Why, that's outrageous! Maybe ask someone for a dollar at most, but not a chunk of their paycheck!"

"Man," the bum dismisses, "Get outta here..."

Mr. Smith finds this man's rhetoric intolerable, until he sees a sign from above. In the literal sense, gas prices are listed at $349 a gallon. Mr. Smith is in shock, collapsing to his knees. "You maniacs!" he screams, pounding his fist to the ground, "You blew it up! Ah damn you... God damn you all to hell!"

The cityscape is littered with signs of horrendous values. A cheeseburger combo at the local fast food joint: $799. Local produce, apples selling for $299 per pound. A gumball in candy machine: $10. Here he was working his life away, and now his savings totaled less than the new minimum wage. A lot can happen in a week. Even outside of... the Twilight Zone.

I think this episode was cut because it was a rip-off of that other TZ episode about the guy in the future trying to get the gold bars that were now worthless. Also, not sure why that guy was sticking his wallet up his ass, but that might have had something to do with it.