Charging the Alien
Sep 12. Landed the exploratory craft on the upper deck of a facility in one of the larger cities of the middle west of the continent designed for temporary storage of land vehicles. To my surprise, almost no one spoke to me or asked me any questions other than to ask when the “moo-V” was coming out and was Will Smith in it. However, after initially setting up the atmospherics, a uniformed member of the local law enforcement community informed me that I could not park that “thing” here. After some confusion and, I believe, threats, I was forced to relocate the exploratory craft to a nearby forest preserve. The uniformed official there told me that I could leave the craft there by paying the sum of six dollars as long as I got it “validated”. I told him I did not have six dollars and he said that was okay, there were no good moo-Vs playing anyway.
Sep 19. I am quickly coming to the realization that I will not be able to accomplish much without this six dollars. Despite my similarity in appearance to the local dominants, they have extended me no hospitality, going so far as to require me to compensate them for such basic essentials of living as food and shelter. Local youths taunt me and attempt to set me on fire when I sleep in the side-passages between buildings, and the only sustenance I can acquire without six dollars is discarded foodstuffs found in waste receptacles, and the other animals which also eat those discarded foodstuffs. Long have I wished to try the “Mocha Moo-Latte”, but such is denied to me. Am frustrated by my inability to acquire employment due to the fact that my eyes leak methane. Also, the exploratory craft has been decorated with boastful slogans by gangs of pigment-wielding criminals.
Sep 22. In an access of helplessness, I have consulted the Advance Guard’s handbook for basic tips about how to blend into one’s new surroundings. I had hoped my experience would obviate such remedial activities, but I admit to being stymied by the vagaries of this culture. The essential advice, to act like the locals, is difficult to follow given that I do not possess the six dollars necessary to buy a “ball cap”, and am unable to speak authoritatively on how the market is doing, whatever that is. Also, my lack of access to the workplace has resulted in some difficulty in determining whether or not the boss is a jerk, and I do not know who Oscar is or whether or not Clint Eastwood has a shoe in for him. Further to this, I am unable to follow the normally reliable advice to mix in with the locals at cultural festivals and events due to my lack of a credit card, a coherent religious affiliation or a stamp on the back of my hand. And finally, the beverages of choice here seem to be fermented hops, boiled coffee, and water, all of which are deadly poison to me. I have, however, moved to a different park district where there are more elderly people, who do not have as much access to sprayable pigment.
Oct 1. The local law enforcement agents have informed me that I must pay a fee of six dollars in order to keep using the park district to harbor my vehicle, and that at any rate I owe them for a new hot-dog griller and I need to clear it out on weekends because that’s when the Shriners are practicing. I frankly am not in the best of hygienic condition, I am beginning to lose focus on the mission due to the intake of fortified wine that provides me with my only regular nutrients, and while Snuffy down at the gas station has informed me of a cheap source of edible rats, his other information about how the Venusians and the Viet Cong have combined forces to poison our aluminum foil supply is less than helpful. I intend to signal the mothership to retrieve me as soon as I am able to get the boot off my craft.