I would move to California and open a whore house/ mining supply store.
masturbate.
I would swear to God that I would never drink that much ever again, as long as I live, and this time I mean it.
- Get out of bed
- Find some soap and a clean towel
- Bathe, hopefully removing the lice
- Burn the bed
- Get started inventing the internet and stuff
World domination.
From the OP:
You look around the room and see a chamber pot…an oil lamp that stinks to high heaven (because it’s whale oil), you see your clothes…(if you are a man you see) boots, black trousers, suspenders, a big hat, a gun! >>>>>>
If I woke up in London and found out that I was wearing suspenders, I would assume that not only the year had changed.
Then I’d have to work out a way to avoid sharing a cell with Oscar Wilde.
Be really annoyed because I wouldn’t be allowed to vote, for starters. (I’m female.)
I always wondered what a small thing like a digital wristwatch would do to history if mailed to a random person in, say, the early 1800s long before any theories remotely related to that technology were developed. I’m sure the results would be drastic.
To me the stench would be horrible. :eek: So I would either adapt or die from a horrible reaction to all the smells.
Don’t know if this area was delevloped yet. Might have to convince a wild boar, panther, black bear, or a native America not to eat/kill me as I am not that tasty/threatening. :eek:
I do not think I would be very happy in 1847. As a woman I would not be able to vote 
, own property in my own name (pretty sure about this), be expected to perform all sorts of activities that are nowadays aided byHoover/Roomba, Westinghouse/Maytag, Betty Crocker/Sara Lee, etc. I wouldn’t have a clue how to manage a household witthout our modern conveniences.
And without my meds and ASA I would probably did from a cold or flu in the next cold snap.
Nope, I love being a modern 21th century woman thank you very much. 
Where’s the toilet paper?
And I can’t live without my SDMB.
I’d probably move out West and start some sort of twisted fairground. I’d let people ride buffalo and there’d be some sort of game where you shot live Indians, and there’d be a game where people throw ducks at balloons and nothing is what it seems.
I still can’t get past the chamberpot thing. I would really have a problem with that. I’d probably then go ask a local “what’s the dizzle mah nizzle?” for a laugh.
I’m sure they’ll return the laugh by burning me or something.
Can I be 12 years old? In that case, I’d go to Missouri and become friends with Sam Clemens. It could only make me smarter.
Lessee, if I were to wake up right here in 1847, then not much would change. I could still be a teacher, though I’d be a pathetic old maid. If I had knowledge of the future I’d buy up oodles of cheap land and water rights, though with what money, I have no idea.
Aha! I could fund my endevours working with my great-great- great-etc.-aunt. She was a very successful madam in Arizona 'round about 1847. I’d dip down to the border to buy up land and then build a lovely home in San Diego. Not so bad if you can overlook that whole being a whore thing.
Assuming I woke up on my family’s farm, I’d figure out exactly who the first owner’s were, and what part of England they came from, the mysterious creatures. However, they’d probably force me to do barn chores or shudder housework, so I’d get out of there pronto and set up a school in Mineral Point and educate all the miners’ children.
Then I’d turn everyone onto the concept of women wearing pants and invent the brassiere. And patent the darned thing too.
All this assuming I could take a lot of insulin and syringes with me. Maybe I could start grinding up dog pancreases and get a jump on Banting and Best?
Sarah
And people ask me why I love Canada.
You go to bed just like any other night…watching TV, next to your wife, SO, alone whatever…
You wake up in a strange bed…in a strange room…and to a strange smell, kind of like horse droppings and burlap. You look around and everything is different. You look out the blurry window and see horses, carriages, women in long dresses, men with guns on their hips.
You look around the room and see a chamber pot…an oil lamp that stinks to high heaven (because it’s whale oil), you see your clothes…(if you are a man you see) boots, black trousers, suspenders, a big hat, a gun!
Ok, so it’s the year the Donner party got rescued, the year Tom Edison and Alexander Graham Bell were born…The US was neck deep in the Mexican American War and sadly the year Johnny Appleseed (Chapman) died…
There you are…you wake up and there are no TV’s, no cars,no indoor plumbing, no lights! What do you do?
> GET UP
I see no “up” here.
> GET OUT OF BED
You get out of bed.
> TAKE CLOTHES
Taken.
> PUT ON CLOTHES
You put on your clothes. You now look period…and rather smart.
> N
You can’t go that way.
> W
You can’t go that way.
> E
You can’t go that way.
> S
You can’t go that way.
> ARRGH DAMMIT
I am sorry, I don’t know how to “arrgh dammit.”
> OPEN WINDOW
You open the blurry window. A strong smell of horse manure assails your nostrils. There is now an opening to the south.
> S
You climb out of the window…and fall down four floors, landing on the hard ground.
YOU HAVE DIED
You scored 0 out of 100 points. Your title is “Temporal Provincial”.
Would you like to try again (y/n)? n
<applause>
Absolutely hillarious, Andros_X. But I think I see where you went wrong. You forgot the magic “look” and “examine” commands. And save, darn it, save!
I wouldn’t make it a single day because I’d be too uppity.
If I woke up tomorrow and it was 1847 I would be rather unhappy about it. See, my clothes and my coat are made of synthetic materials that didn’t exist back then. My house–in fact the whole area of town where I live–didn’t exist then either. So I would have to walk several miles into town in the middle of February wearing nothing but my boots and then hope some kind stranger would take me in. Career opportunities would be rather limited–I could become a schoolmarm or a washer woman, I guess. I don’t think I have what it takes to be a madam.
I’d have a few advantages though–I’d know to boil water before I drank it in order to avoid typhoid or cholera and I’d know to get fresh fruit and vegetables in order to avoid scurvy and pellagra. I can cook on wood stoves so that wouldn’t be a problem. The thing that would bother me the most would be that I wouldn’t get to listen to the kind of music I like, as it wouldn’t be produced for another 125 years.
And of course if I wanted a chicken dinner I’d have to kill and pluck my own chickens, as there was a peculiar lack of supermarkets with refrigerated meat departments back then.
Eerybody else is already inventing and investing and predicting everything, so they’re going to get all the money before I arrive. Therefore, I have only one option… steal it from them!
[begin theme music from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly”}
I’d head west, where law enforcement was rudimentary and disorganized, and where a man’s whole identity was his face and his word. Where the closest thing they had to “America’s Most Wanted” was a badly-drawn sketch on a poorly-distributed handbill, and CSI was a distant dream.
My intelligence, self-discipline, and utter ruthlessness would make me the perfect criminal. No bank in the west would go unrobbed. I would leave neither clues nor witnesses, and even my own accomplices would eventually find that their only reward was a shallow grave in the vast Arizona wastelands.
Years later, living in splendor in my Mexican hacienda, I would write my memoirs, and my name would stand for all time alongside Jesse James, Billy the Kid, John Wesley Hardin, etc., as the Old West passed into legend.
[however you spell that weird whistle from the theme music]