Understanding the Mandela Effect: Time Travel or Memory Glitch?

What’s a conspiracy theory you actually find believable?

The Mandela Effect: Proof That Someone’s Messing with Our Timeline

Here’s mine, and I promise it’s not flat-earth or hollow-earth level nonsense: I think the Mandela Effect is real evidence that time travel exists, and that someone out there is quietly editing our history for us or attempting to edit history, and has messed up horribly.

Let’s start with the basics. The Mandela Effect is that strange phenomenon where huge groups of people remember the same event, image, or phases. They all remember it wrong, in exactly the same way. It got its name back in 2009, when a researcher discovered that tons of people distinctly remembered Nelson Mandela dying in prison in the 1980s. Except he didn’t. He walked out of that prison and became President of South Africa. Meanwhile, half the internet swears they remember watching his funeral on TV.

Person holding newspaper beside Retro Arcade and Looney Toons signs
A startled shopper encounters familiar cartoon branding and newspaper headlines on a busy city street.

Scientists have a boring explanation for this, thank you Neil De Grasse Tyson. The reality is memory isn’t a video recording; it’s a reconstruction of everything the brain processed and recreated. Every time you recall something, your brain rebuilds it from scratch, and it’s prone to suggestion, gap-filling, and good old-fashioned misremembering. That’s the “safe” and laymen’s term of the answer.

I am a scientist, a molecular biologist to be exact, don’t buy the boring answer. I think it’s time travel. Says, the person with limited Neuroscience background. Pause.  Scientists do not create equal stop asking your cousin that study astrophysics if you should go to the doctors for growth, you need to go to the doctors. The growth needs a biopsy and better test results and tell you what the growth is, it’s probably a cyst, but don’t ask your cousin the astrophysicist, they know thermodynamics, placement of stars, and how to calculate the distance of black holes.

Here’s my theory: somewhere down the line fifty years from now, a thousand years from now, whenever we finally crack it, humanity figures out how to travel through time. And every single time someone goes back and tweaks something, it doesn’t erase the old timeline completely. It just overwrites it mostly. A few stray memories slip through the cracks, like static from the old channel bleeding into the new one. That static? That’s the Mandela Effect. It’s not a glitch in your brain, it’s a glitch in reality, left behind by whoever’s out there playing timeline Jenga.

Take Nelson Mandela himself. Picture it: he dies in prison in the 80s, and it sends the world into a spiral. Something catastrophic happens as a result maybe South Africa collapses into chaos, maybe the ripple effects are felt globally. So someone from the future looks at this disaster, decides it’s unacceptable, hops in their time machine, and quietly makes sure he survives. World saved. Except a chunk of us still remember the original, uncorrected timeline like it was yesterday.

Or take the corporate angle, which honestly might be my favorite part of this theory. Ever notice how companies barely sell physical copies of anything anymore? Everything’s digital, everything’s a subscription, everything can be patched, updated, or quietly rewritten overnight. I think that’s on purpose. If a company put out a hundred million physical copies of something and time travelers started messing with details in the past, there’d eventually be a mountain of physical evidence that doesn’t match the “current” version of events. Digital is easy to erase. Physical copies are witnesses. Keep everyone renting instead of owning, and there’s nothing left behind to prove the timeline ever looked different.

And don’t even get me started on Chick-fil-A. I would bet good money that logo used to have a “k” in it. Chik-fil-A. I can picture it. Now it’s “Chick-fil-A,” clean as can be, and nobody blinks. Somewhere out there, something happened that was bad enough that someone had to go back and fix a fried chicken logo. We don’t know what yet. But when we figure it out, don’t say I didn’t call it. *While cleaning my desk, I found an old chick-fil-a calendar. It had the ck… so maybe not chick-fil-a.

Now, to be clear I’m not out here claiming the earth is flat, or hollow, or that we’re all NPCs in a simulation running on some cosmic PlayStation (7 billion people, rendered in real time, 24/7? No chance). I like to think I know where the line is between “fun theory” and “actually unhinged.” But the Mandela Effect? That one I believe. Every conflicting memory, every “wait, I *know* it wasn’t spelled like that” moment, is a little scar tissue left over from a timeline that almost was  evidence that somewhere out there, someone hit rewind, changed a few things, and hit play again, hoping we wouldn’t notice. We noticed.

My Top 5 Apps (Plus an Honorable or Two Mention)

Hello Readers,

This was orginially a Daily Prompt offered by WordPress, and in my goal to do 30 essays in 30 days, i did this one because I thought it was fun. I have lost the Daily prompt draft I created but still wanted to share. Enjoy! Any of these apps want to sponsor a post. Reach out to me!

I saw this prompt on WordPress and it stuck with me: what are your top five apps on your phone? Not top five rappers (though that’s a whole other debate we need a scoring system for), not top five anything else just the apps I reach for every single day. So, here’s my  or , unranked by cool factor, ranked by real life list. Along with a few extra, and one that I tried to leave off the list but… I couldn’t Pikachu wouldn’t allow it.

5. Voice Recorder

This one might surprise you, but it’s been essential since the beginning of COVID in 2020. I use my phone’s recorder to capture my thoughts before they disappear into the ether. Ideas I can’t get out of my head, ramblings that turn into essays, voice notes that are basically my personal diary. Half the blog posts I’ve ever published started as me talking to myself in the car. Some of it turns into something good. Some of it is just me sounding unhinged. Either way, it works.

4. Spotify

Yes, I know. I know Spotify barely pays artists and has its own controversies. I’m trying to be a conscientious consumer, but I also host trivia and I’m always on the go, so realistically, Spotify runs my life. My only real complaint: it used to introduce me to new artists and genres constantly, and lately it just keeps feeding me the same 150–200 songs on repeat. I don’t need “Don’t Stop Believing” again to give me something new.

The audiobook addition, though? Genius. I’ve “read” three books I never would’ve paid for otherwise. I’ll start a book physically at night, forget to bring it to work, search for it on Spotify. So, I can continue to listen to the book at work, or even on the drive home. Then once I’m back home, I pick the physical copy back up right where I left off. Seamless.

3. Plague Inc.

This is the one game that made the list. I don’t download it often because I will lose hours to it, but there’s something about building out epidemiology scenarios and watching how diseases spread that scratches an itch in my brain. It doesn’t teach me public health (that’s what school is for), but the modeling side of it is genuinely fascinating. An ex-introduced me to this game, I think it freaked him out how much I loved the game and would show him all the different ways I would create diseases.

2. Too Good to Go

When I’ve got a little extra cash and want food from a new spot, this is my go-to. Some of my favorite markets, Whole Foods or Fresh Market, sell surplus food through the app for a fraction of the price. Right now, I am in love with Pure Raw Juice, because Too Good, to Go.  It’s how I get to try places I’ve never been, eat well, and not feel guilty about food waste. It’s also perfect for stocking up on food or a quick surprise meal.

Honorable mention: Tumblr. I’ve had this account since 2008 and I’m not leaving. It’s my refuge from every other chaotic social platform (you know who you are… Book of Faces) a little corner of the internet that still feels like mine.

1. Google Maps

No contest. Even with the “raggedy” voice I keep meaning to change, I check this constantly not just for directions, but to gauge traffic before I even leave the house. It tells me exactly when I need to walk out the door to make it to work on time, and honestly, it’s saved me more stress than almost anything else on my phone. Yes, I know it’s tracking me. No, I don’t really care, I’m just going to work and back anyway. Sometimes it saves me from driving to Virgina, when I am just trying to go to Bowie.

Runners-up that almost made the cut: Keep Notes, Google Docs, Audible, Kindle. Maybe YouTube probably not due to this new algorithm.

p.s. It Pokémon Go. I have logged one too many hours on that app. My quest to get a shiny Charmander again, has driven me to the ends of Baltimore Street. I am embarrassed to say Pokémon Go is the reason I get 20,000 steps in every weekend like clockwork.  Walking around and catching little Pokémon and sending them to Professor Oak, we all know he runs an illegal chop shop of Pokémon.

If you would like to support my Pokémon hobby à https://ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

P.S. if any of these companies would like to sponsor a post… I am here for it 😊

What My Retail Job Taught Me About Finding Lost Treasures

What’s the best thing you’ve ever found randomly on the street?

Shopper finding a sparkling ring on the floor beneath a clothing rack
A shopper discovers a sparkling ring beneath a clothing rack during a busy sale.

Whenever you ask people what the best thing they’ve ever found on the ground is, they inevitably say money. It’s always money. “Oh, I found a crisp twenty in a puddle once!” Good for you, Jeff Bezos. A long time ago, I worked retail, which means the ground is less a venue for windfall cash and more an archaeological dig site of human despair. Over the years, my broom has swept up stray toy parts, pocket lint, and, on one unforgettable Saturday morning, an actual, literal intrauterine device. An IUD. Just chilling by the impulse cookie section- the irony. Was it a runaway medical anomaly? A dropped OB-GYN demo model? Did someone shed it in a fit of retail rage? Don’t ask me how I recognized it; retail transforms you into a forensic scientist whether you like it or not.

So, my broom pushed me to sweep the floor in the morning. I heard a CLANG against the store’s baseboards on a Saturday morning. Anything is better than that rogue piece of birth control was my baseline expectation. Instead, I found an absurdly demure diamond engagement ring. To understand how this happened, you first have to understand the sacred incompetence of the retail night shift. I was only in the store at 8:30 AM because my coworkers had sent a text saying, “Sorry! It was so slam-packed last night we couldn’t sweep!” Naturally, being a busybody, I checked the register logs. Their last sale was clocked at 8:01 PM. The store closed at nine. They had an entire hour of paid stillness to push a broom, stock the Snack display, and reflect on their life choices. Instead, they stood around people-watching and did the bare minimum, leaving the store looking like an abandoned storefront after Christmas.

So, I’m aggressively sweeping up their dust bunnies when the broom hit the ring, like a hockey play; I swept it into the baseboard—a real, diamond ring. I did what any reasonable, underpaid 25-year-old would do: I ran it down to a jeweler for an appraisal. The jeweler studied it, looked up at me with dead seriousness, and said, “This is exquisite. Maybe God is trying to tell you that you’re about to get married!”

Now, 25-year-old me had an immediate existential crisis over the fact that my boyfriend at the time was completely wrong for me, meaning God’s retail delivery system had severe targeting issues. Also, not that anyone asked if it slipped onto my ring finger like it had been molded in a laboratory specifically for my hand. Common sense returned and slapped me back to reality. I quickly took it off, placed it in a tiny paper envelope labeled “Customer’s Ring Found on Floor,” handed it to management, and watched it disappear into our bolted-down steel floor safe.

And there it stayed.

For five entire years!

We checked local lost-and-founds. I stalked early Craigslist boards. Silence. The ring sat in the dark behind a combination keypad, totally forgotten, until our store hired a new manager who possessed the specific, greasy energy of someone who views inventory sheets as creative writing. One day, the safe opened, the safe closed, and the diamond was… evaporated into thin air. A few weeks later, half the staff got fired over a cocktail of phantom discounts, register shorting, and the grand theft of a Diamond Ring rock (not quite; it was really people shorting the register that got them fired). The ring was gone, the statute of limitations was ticking, and we all moved on.

Until the ghost of retail past walked through the front doors. Five years after that fateful morning sweep, a woman strolled into the store. She was glowing, thriving, and happily reminiscing about our discontinued caramel nut mixes while visiting from out of state. Then she dropped the bomb: “You know, I actually lost something here right before I moved away years ago.” My broom’s hand twitched. “What did you lose?” “My engagement ring,” she sighed. “It never fit my finger right. I came in on a Thursday night to get snacks for my drive…”

A Thursday. Thursday. My brilliant, hardworking colleagues hadn’t just blown off Friday night’s cleaning duties; they hadn’t touched a broom for forty-eight straight hours. That diamond had been kicking around the carpet through two full business days of foot traffic, surviving purely because our staff was allergic to physical labor. She told me she had retraced her steps on Friday, found nothing, and realized the universe had handed her an exit ramp. Two weeks prior, her boyfriend had proposed, and she’d been harboring immediate, sickening regret from saying yes. When she confessed she lost the ring that weekend, the man utterly detonated, screaming, cursing, and revealing every toxic red flag he owned in one explosive tirade.

The dropped ring was her ticket out. She didn’t want to marry the man; she knew it wasn’t right. After that nasty argument that weekend, she decided to flee the state and start a glorious single life in Ohio. “Ohio,” my brain thought, but I let it go because she looked amazing.  She smiled and asked, “Did anyone ever end up finding it?”

I paused, looking at this radiant, completely unburdened woman who had successfully escaped a terrible engagement because of the wrong ring size.

“Oh yeah,” I told her casually. “I found it that Saturday morning. It sat in our safe for five years until a shady manager stole it and got sacked by corporate. Her face was pure, unadulterated relief. The ring had ruined a thief, dodged a toxic marriage, survived two days of retail neglect, and paid for nobody’s wedding. Sometimes the best things you find on the floor aren’t meant to be kept; they’re just dropped so someone else can finally run.

This was a dramatic retelling of me finding a ring on the floor at work. A lot of factors changed, times changed, and memories aren’t always accurate.

I am always going to ask: if you would like to help me get a right-hand diamond ringà Ko-fi.com/chemichelletales

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