- Joined
- May 31, 2005
- Messages
- 834
“Could someone please tell me why the hell we never have anything in the vending machine except various flavors of Doritos?” Mitch loudly whined.
“Because Doritos corn flavored snacks improve one’s ability to do math and put up with bureaucratic bull**** by 13 and 29 percent, respectively. Didn’t you get the memo?” I stated bluntly as I continued eating and poring over the data I’d printed out. I guess I should have looked up and gauged the situation better before speaking, because the next thing I knew, Mitch started screaming at me.
“Goddammit Jon! Why can’t you just give someone a straight answer every once in a while? You think you’re so funny, you and your little quips. Well quip about this!”
His face was beet red as he turned around and forced one dollar and fifty cents, furiously, into the vending machine. He just kept mashing his stubby little sausage fingers into all the buttons on the machine until finally a bag of Doritos dispensed. He yanked the bag from the machine and hurled it to the ground, where he proceeded to stomp on it until all that remained were the wrapper and tiny little fragments of corn chips. I felt bad for maintenance.
“Why Doritos? Why do we have an entire vending machine packed to the brim with Doritos? Do you know why? Or are you just going to give me another BS response, smart guy?”
Mitch had always been prone to temper tantrums of the highest caliber, however, this time he was especially irate. I guess the newest cutback was really getting to him.
“Alright, alright, cool it. So you know how the government’s always cutting our funding?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, back in ’08, the director agreed to a deal to get some extra money to offset the cutback.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, the deal was, Doritos, a Frito-Lay company, which is a subsidiary of PepsiCo, paid the lab an undisclosed sum.”
“Yeah.”
“So in return, the lab used the radars we usually use to survey the uppermost layers of the atmosphere to broadcast a Doritos commercial to Ursa Major as a publicity stunt.”
“You’re ****tin’ me…”
“Super serious. I asked Bill about it. And the kicker is, in addition to the undisclosed sum, we get a free lifetime supply of Doritos delivered to us here at the lab.”
“Oh my God…that’s so absurd…” there was a brief pause while Mitch took in all the data I’d transmitted to him, and then he shook his head around as if to clear his vision, like he’d just been whacked in the temple by a baseball, and then he continued, “so, let me get this straight, they get free Doritos and then they make us, the scientists, the backbone of this operation, pay for them?”
“Essentially, yes. This is the way things work on earth, for better or worse. If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just buy some kind of snack you do enjoy and bring it to work?”
“I would, if it were that simple. My wife won’t let me have any junk food ever since I got triple bypass last year.”
“Well, that leaves you with two options: either don’t eat junk food, or purchase it with utmost secrecy, preferably in a trench coat and dark sunglasses, and store it in the most hidden of household spaces, preferably a small safe you get off Craigslist on the cheap.”
“What? And go into one of those madhouse supermarkets? No way, Jose. I steer clear of those **** things. Let the wife do the shopping.”
“Jesus, Mitch. Give me a list and I’ll get them for you if you’re really going to be this neurotic about it, but I’m trying to analyze some data here.”
With that, Mitch mumbled something to the effect of a pathetic apology and waddled out of the break room. It would do the poor guy some good to lay off that crap, anyway. I finished eating in much appreciated silence. I’d had a headache all morning and to be perfectly honest, the cutbacks had gotten my stomach in knots, too. I was the newest member to the team, and most likely the first to get the ol’ axe if things really went south. I glanced at the clock and figured I ought to head back to the lab. On my way out the door, I ran into Bill.
“Hey, how’s it going, friendo?” I politely inquired.
“Hey Jon. Guess who I just ran into?”
“Oh, let me guess, did Mitch go run to you and throw a fit asking about the
Doritos?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I told him what you said was true, and he just walked away in
a huff.”
“Yeah, seems like he’s a little more tightly wound than usual since the cutback.”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. You don’t know the rest of the story though, do you?”
“No, what story?”
“Why Mitch can’t stand Doritos.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, as a little kid, Mitch was obsessed with Doritos. He’d eat them with every
meal. He’d bring them to restaurants when he ate out with his family. He actually started turning yellow from all the corn in the chips.”
“What?! You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. So then, this one day, he’s at a family reunion…” Bill motioned to me to finish the statement.
“Eating Doritos.”
“Correct. And I guess he was eating them so quickly he wasn’t chewing them properly. I’m sure you’re familiar with how sharp the edges on Doritos can be.”
“Yeah, those things can get pretty **** sharp. I’ve torn up the roof of my mouth eating them a number of times.”
“Yeah. So he swallows a chip that’s hardly chewed and abnormally sharp, even by Dorito standards. It hurts him like hell as it’s travelling down his esophagus, but he doesn’t think anything of it and continues scarfing down the chips, making the cut worse and worse.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then, out of nowhere, his older cousin pushes him in the pool. Mitch opens his mouth to yell as he falls into the pool, and takes a big gulp of the pool water. The chlorinated h-2-0 travels down his esophagus, and because of the cut, starts burning like hellfire.”
“Holy crap!”
“Yeah, so Mitch is so shocked and in so much pain and flailing around so much, he actually gets a freaking stomach cramp and sinks to the bottom.”
I was speechless at this point.
“Basically, he passed out and had to be given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, get this, by his own mother! Apparently it was so scarring he has never eaten another Dorito since.”
“Wow. Just…wow. Poor Mitch. Seems like he really got dealt a ****ty hand in life.”
“Haha, yeah, no kidding. Poor guy.”
There was a pause in the conversation that signaled neither of us had anything else of any importance to say to each other.
“Well, I should get back to work. Are you eating lunch?”
“No…not really, anyway. I just came in here to get a bag of Doritos after Mitch made me think of them.”
We both laughed as I went out the door and Bill lumbered over to the vending machine and inserted the money with his lanky arms. I walked down the long corridor back to the lab, scanning my ID to open each door along the way. My enjoyment of swiping my card to gain security clearance had not yet worn off. I’d just sat down and gotten comfortable when the PA system started screeching. In my short tenure at the lab, I’d never heard an announcement over the PA. When the screeching stopped, I heard the assistant director’s voice, wavering.
“Attention all EISCAT Lab employees, remain indoors! Do not exit the building! We have a…slight” there was an audible gulp, “…situation. The proper government branches are being notified as we speak! Again, stay indoors!”
I’d only met the assistant director a handful of times, but he seemed like a rather strong, confident fellow. I was curious to find out what, precisely, had unnerved him so. Perhaps some manner of large cat or bear was circling the building, just waiting to sink its teeth into scientist flesh. Maybe a rogue advertising firm was attempting to hijack the lab in order to send more ads into the deep reaches of space, hoping to enlarge their market share on the other side of the cosmos. Whatever it was, I was determined to find out. I coolly got up from my chair and sauntered out of the lab, back into the corridor, and began strutting towards the front exit. I was about to swipe my ID at one of the clearance points when the door burst open right in front of me, hitting me squarely in the funnybone.
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed as pain rushed to my olecranon process.
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” Mitch yelped as he waddle-ran past me, his fat heaving up and down with each step. I’d never seen him move so quickly or ridiculously.
“Whoa, easy there, killer. You **** near took my arm off. What’s all this about?” I asked in my most composed voice, as I stroked my elbow.
“You don’t wanna know, Jon! I’m gonna go hide under my desk and call my family! It’s that bad!”
“Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. It can’t be all that bad, now can it? I’m gonna go take a look.”
“You do what you want! I’m telling you, though, you shouldn’t go out there! It could be the end of us, no, the end of days! Oh God I have to go call my wife and kids!”
With that, Mitch turned and ran down the hallway, thighs scraping together and sweat stains on his back. My pulse quickened. Overwhelmed by a mixture of curiosity and anxiety, I continued towards the exit and began a full out sprint. When I reached the entrance to the building, there was no receptionist, no security guard. I peered out the glass sliding doors and was blinded. Some chrome object was reflecting sunlight directly into my eyes. My cell phone rang and I just let it go to voicemail. My heart began pounding. I took several steps forward through the first set of doors when I received a text. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at the screen just to give myself a reason to delay my exit from the building for a brief moment.
It read: “Jon! Heard through the grapevine you’re going outside to check it out! Be careful and be sure to fill me in, if you make it back, that is!”
I replaced my phone in my pocket and took another look at the object sitting in the parking lot. It was too bright to completely make out, but it appeared to be some kind of silver disk. Yes, this is exactly where this story is going. I kid you not.
I stepped outside and continued ambling with weak knees towards the object. I felt as though I was having some kind of religious experience. I stepped to the side, out of the way of the reflected light, so as to get a better look at the object. It was, without a doubt, the most stereotypical 50s-modern flying saucer I’d ever seen, granted it was also the first. I felt as though I’d wandered into some kind of dream state, when a voice called out to me, in perfect English, and snapped me out of my trance.
“Hey! Earthling! Bring me Doritos!”
I **** near jumped out of my skin. Standing atop the UFO in a metallic silver jumpsuit, with hands on his hips, was what appeared to be a regular human. I went slack jawed.
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
The extraterrestrial deftly slid down the side of his flying saucer and approached me.
“I said bring me Doritos! I’ve been eating terrible freeze-dried food heading here after I decoded your signal and I’m hungry as a hippo, as I believe you earthlings would say.”
Hungry Hungry Hippos? What?
“Are you going to just stand there with your mouth agape?”
It was about at this point I tried desperately to regain my composure. Surely this was some kind of joke a wealthy private investor was playing on the lab.
“Well, um, no. What the hell is going on? Who sent you? Wait, who are you?”
“I would rather not hear my name butchered. For that reason, I think it best you simply call me McDonald.”
“Why McDonald?”
“That seems to be a powerful and respected name on this planet. I’m lovin’ it, are you?”
I didn’t even catch this joke or wonder how he knew about a sub-par burger joint. My mind was racing.
“Wait, honestly, who put you up to this? I’m not buying this act for a second. C’mon man, we’ve all got a lot of work to do around here and we need to keep showing important results or we’re gonna lose funding. We just got another cutback and…”
“I assure you this is no joke. I hail from the planet you’ve labeled 47 UMa b near the Ursa Major constellation. I was sent on a research mission to observe your planet and peoples, but was not planning on making direct contact. However, when I received your message, I deemed it acceptable to interact.”
“Listen, McDonald, that transmission was sent out nine years ago. Ursa Major is 42 light years away. There’s no way you could have received that signal yet, and even if you had, it would have taken you, at the very, very least, another 42 years to get
here.”
“Ah, yes. I stopped my ship several light years out from earth to check some of the systems when I received the signal. After making sure my ship was functioning properly, I tunneled through space-time to arrive here.”
“What? How?” I was thoroughly intrigued.
“I don’t have the time or desire to explain this, you earthlings are still years and years out from making the necessary discoveries. Now, take me to your Doritos.”
Was that another joke? I felt light headed and entranced. What was I to do but take my new friend to sample some of earth’s snack food?
“Um…okay. Follow me.” I said as I turned and began pacing back to the lab, with McDonald following a few steps behind. After we entered the lab, he started walking beside me, his head on a swivel.
“I find it intriguing you humans have created a network to broadcast advertisements and plays. The signals are studied closely at some of our university labs. It seems strange you would waste such precious time and resources.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess it is a little weird, but not without its merits.”
“Hmph. We have difficulty locating said merits.”
“Well, it’s entertainment. It’s creative.”
“It is both entertaining and creative to build vessels capable of intergalactic travel.”
“That’s true, but in a different way. Don’t you have plays on your planet?”
I asked my question right as we entered the break room. McDonald darted over to the vending machine.
“Yes! I recognize the packaging!”
“Here, I’ll buy them for you. What flavor do you want?”
“Cooler Ranch. The color of the packaging appeals to me. What, though, does
‘Cooler Ranch’ mean, precisely?”
I inserted the money into the machine and selected Cooler Ranch.
“I’m not sure, to be honest, even as a human.”
The bag dispensed and McDonald jammed his hand into the machine to retrieve it. He tore through the packaging and studied one of the chips.
“A snack fit for your great Brett Michaels and his harem!”
“Brett Michaels? Umm…yeah. I mean, they’re pretty good, nothing too special, though.”
McDonald placed the chip on his tongue and savored the flavor before biting into it. I waited for his response with great anticipation.
“This is…completely mediocre. Why’d you broadcast this ad at my planet?”
“Well, the lab needed money to continue operating, so the Doritos company paid us to broadcast that ad into space for publicity.”
“Let me get this straight, a junk food company had to provide the capital for this research operation to stay open? Why wouldn’t your government put more resources into this lab?”
“I don’t know, I guess priorities are a little…different…on earth.”
“I should say so! That would never happen on my planet!”
“It’s just that the research done at this lab isn’t immediately profitable, so basically no one wants to invest money in something unless they’re going to get a big return.”
“But aren't the results of your research return enough?”
“The results of this research can’t build you a castle-sized mansion or assemble a Rolls Royce. Money can.”
“Ugh. I’m leaving this strange place to report my findings. I’m gonna beat it, just beat it!” McDonald sang as he performed the moonwalk, albeit poorly. I didn’t even notice, really. My head was still spinning from the fact that he was here, and that he was leaving already.
“Already? I have so much I need to ask you! How did you tunnel through space-time? Wormholes?”
“Don’t sweat it, use Degree antiperspirant! I'll return with a larger team in a few of your earth weeks. Perhaps we can teach you the physics of the universe and you can teach us how to make mediocre snack products.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Can’t you stay a little longer, though?”
“I’m sorry, I need a larger team. And my superiors will eat me for breakfast, as you say, regardless of my nutritional value, if I don’t report and let them know I made direct contact. ET go home.”
“It’s ‘ET phone home,’ for the record. Here, I’ll walk you back to your ship.”
We exited the break room and started walking towards the exit.
“Ah, my mistake. By the way, I never did get your name.”
“Jon. My name is Jon.”
I turned and shook his hand as we continued walking.
“Yes! The customary hand shake! You earthlings say a handshake can say a lot about a man. Well, what does mine say?”
“It says you’ve never shaken hands before.”
“Ha-ha, very good! Well, Jon, perhaps when I return you can explain more about your television programming.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
“I also wish to try your Dominos Pizza and Coca-Cola and wear your Nikes.”
“Anything you want, McDonald.”
We approached his ship.
“See you soon, Jon.”
“Take it easy, McDonald.”
With that, McDonald climbed back up to the hatch of his ship.
“You may want to get out of the way of my thrusters, Jon. And remember, *****es, money, power!” he said as he flashed the ol’ Nixon v for victory sign and disappeared into his ship. I jogged back to the lab and entered the glass doors. I turned and watched his ship blast off, into the atmosphere.
McDonald. Huh. What a character.
“Because Doritos corn flavored snacks improve one’s ability to do math and put up with bureaucratic bull**** by 13 and 29 percent, respectively. Didn’t you get the memo?” I stated bluntly as I continued eating and poring over the data I’d printed out. I guess I should have looked up and gauged the situation better before speaking, because the next thing I knew, Mitch started screaming at me.
“Goddammit Jon! Why can’t you just give someone a straight answer every once in a while? You think you’re so funny, you and your little quips. Well quip about this!”
His face was beet red as he turned around and forced one dollar and fifty cents, furiously, into the vending machine. He just kept mashing his stubby little sausage fingers into all the buttons on the machine until finally a bag of Doritos dispensed. He yanked the bag from the machine and hurled it to the ground, where he proceeded to stomp on it until all that remained were the wrapper and tiny little fragments of corn chips. I felt bad for maintenance.
“Why Doritos? Why do we have an entire vending machine packed to the brim with Doritos? Do you know why? Or are you just going to give me another BS response, smart guy?”
Mitch had always been prone to temper tantrums of the highest caliber, however, this time he was especially irate. I guess the newest cutback was really getting to him.
“Alright, alright, cool it. So you know how the government’s always cutting our funding?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, back in ’08, the director agreed to a deal to get some extra money to offset the cutback.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, the deal was, Doritos, a Frito-Lay company, which is a subsidiary of PepsiCo, paid the lab an undisclosed sum.”
“Yeah.”
“So in return, the lab used the radars we usually use to survey the uppermost layers of the atmosphere to broadcast a Doritos commercial to Ursa Major as a publicity stunt.”
“You’re ****tin’ me…”
“Super serious. I asked Bill about it. And the kicker is, in addition to the undisclosed sum, we get a free lifetime supply of Doritos delivered to us here at the lab.”
“Oh my God…that’s so absurd…” there was a brief pause while Mitch took in all the data I’d transmitted to him, and then he shook his head around as if to clear his vision, like he’d just been whacked in the temple by a baseball, and then he continued, “so, let me get this straight, they get free Doritos and then they make us, the scientists, the backbone of this operation, pay for them?”
“Essentially, yes. This is the way things work on earth, for better or worse. If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just buy some kind of snack you do enjoy and bring it to work?”
“I would, if it were that simple. My wife won’t let me have any junk food ever since I got triple bypass last year.”
“Well, that leaves you with two options: either don’t eat junk food, or purchase it with utmost secrecy, preferably in a trench coat and dark sunglasses, and store it in the most hidden of household spaces, preferably a small safe you get off Craigslist on the cheap.”
“What? And go into one of those madhouse supermarkets? No way, Jose. I steer clear of those **** things. Let the wife do the shopping.”
“Jesus, Mitch. Give me a list and I’ll get them for you if you’re really going to be this neurotic about it, but I’m trying to analyze some data here.”
With that, Mitch mumbled something to the effect of a pathetic apology and waddled out of the break room. It would do the poor guy some good to lay off that crap, anyway. I finished eating in much appreciated silence. I’d had a headache all morning and to be perfectly honest, the cutbacks had gotten my stomach in knots, too. I was the newest member to the team, and most likely the first to get the ol’ axe if things really went south. I glanced at the clock and figured I ought to head back to the lab. On my way out the door, I ran into Bill.
“Hey, how’s it going, friendo?” I politely inquired.
“Hey Jon. Guess who I just ran into?”
“Oh, let me guess, did Mitch go run to you and throw a fit asking about the
Doritos?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I told him what you said was true, and he just walked away in
a huff.”
“Yeah, seems like he’s a little more tightly wound than usual since the cutback.”
“Yeah, that’s part of it. You don’t know the rest of the story though, do you?”
“No, what story?”
“Why Mitch can’t stand Doritos.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, as a little kid, Mitch was obsessed with Doritos. He’d eat them with every
meal. He’d bring them to restaurants when he ate out with his family. He actually started turning yellow from all the corn in the chips.”
“What?! You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. So then, this one day, he’s at a family reunion…” Bill motioned to me to finish the statement.
“Eating Doritos.”
“Correct. And I guess he was eating them so quickly he wasn’t chewing them properly. I’m sure you’re familiar with how sharp the edges on Doritos can be.”
“Yeah, those things can get pretty **** sharp. I’ve torn up the roof of my mouth eating them a number of times.”
“Yeah. So he swallows a chip that’s hardly chewed and abnormally sharp, even by Dorito standards. It hurts him like hell as it’s travelling down his esophagus, but he doesn’t think anything of it and continues scarfing down the chips, making the cut worse and worse.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then, out of nowhere, his older cousin pushes him in the pool. Mitch opens his mouth to yell as he falls into the pool, and takes a big gulp of the pool water. The chlorinated h-2-0 travels down his esophagus, and because of the cut, starts burning like hellfire.”
“Holy crap!”
“Yeah, so Mitch is so shocked and in so much pain and flailing around so much, he actually gets a freaking stomach cramp and sinks to the bottom.”
I was speechless at this point.
“Basically, he passed out and had to be given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, get this, by his own mother! Apparently it was so scarring he has never eaten another Dorito since.”
“Wow. Just…wow. Poor Mitch. Seems like he really got dealt a ****ty hand in life.”
“Haha, yeah, no kidding. Poor guy.”
There was a pause in the conversation that signaled neither of us had anything else of any importance to say to each other.
“Well, I should get back to work. Are you eating lunch?”
“No…not really, anyway. I just came in here to get a bag of Doritos after Mitch made me think of them.”
We both laughed as I went out the door and Bill lumbered over to the vending machine and inserted the money with his lanky arms. I walked down the long corridor back to the lab, scanning my ID to open each door along the way. My enjoyment of swiping my card to gain security clearance had not yet worn off. I’d just sat down and gotten comfortable when the PA system started screeching. In my short tenure at the lab, I’d never heard an announcement over the PA. When the screeching stopped, I heard the assistant director’s voice, wavering.
“Attention all EISCAT Lab employees, remain indoors! Do not exit the building! We have a…slight” there was an audible gulp, “…situation. The proper government branches are being notified as we speak! Again, stay indoors!”
I’d only met the assistant director a handful of times, but he seemed like a rather strong, confident fellow. I was curious to find out what, precisely, had unnerved him so. Perhaps some manner of large cat or bear was circling the building, just waiting to sink its teeth into scientist flesh. Maybe a rogue advertising firm was attempting to hijack the lab in order to send more ads into the deep reaches of space, hoping to enlarge their market share on the other side of the cosmos. Whatever it was, I was determined to find out. I coolly got up from my chair and sauntered out of the lab, back into the corridor, and began strutting towards the front exit. I was about to swipe my ID at one of the clearance points when the door burst open right in front of me, hitting me squarely in the funnybone.
“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed as pain rushed to my olecranon process.
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” Mitch yelped as he waddle-ran past me, his fat heaving up and down with each step. I’d never seen him move so quickly or ridiculously.
“Whoa, easy there, killer. You **** near took my arm off. What’s all this about?” I asked in my most composed voice, as I stroked my elbow.
“You don’t wanna know, Jon! I’m gonna go hide under my desk and call my family! It’s that bad!”
“Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. It can’t be all that bad, now can it? I’m gonna go take a look.”
“You do what you want! I’m telling you, though, you shouldn’t go out there! It could be the end of us, no, the end of days! Oh God I have to go call my wife and kids!”
With that, Mitch turned and ran down the hallway, thighs scraping together and sweat stains on his back. My pulse quickened. Overwhelmed by a mixture of curiosity and anxiety, I continued towards the exit and began a full out sprint. When I reached the entrance to the building, there was no receptionist, no security guard. I peered out the glass sliding doors and was blinded. Some chrome object was reflecting sunlight directly into my eyes. My cell phone rang and I just let it go to voicemail. My heart began pounding. I took several steps forward through the first set of doors when I received a text. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at the screen just to give myself a reason to delay my exit from the building for a brief moment.
It read: “Jon! Heard through the grapevine you’re going outside to check it out! Be careful and be sure to fill me in, if you make it back, that is!”
I replaced my phone in my pocket and took another look at the object sitting in the parking lot. It was too bright to completely make out, but it appeared to be some kind of silver disk. Yes, this is exactly where this story is going. I kid you not.
I stepped outside and continued ambling with weak knees towards the object. I felt as though I was having some kind of religious experience. I stepped to the side, out of the way of the reflected light, so as to get a better look at the object. It was, without a doubt, the most stereotypical 50s-modern flying saucer I’d ever seen, granted it was also the first. I felt as though I’d wandered into some kind of dream state, when a voice called out to me, in perfect English, and snapped me out of my trance.
“Hey! Earthling! Bring me Doritos!”
I **** near jumped out of my skin. Standing atop the UFO in a metallic silver jumpsuit, with hands on his hips, was what appeared to be a regular human. I went slack jawed.
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
The extraterrestrial deftly slid down the side of his flying saucer and approached me.
“I said bring me Doritos! I’ve been eating terrible freeze-dried food heading here after I decoded your signal and I’m hungry as a hippo, as I believe you earthlings would say.”
Hungry Hungry Hippos? What?
“Are you going to just stand there with your mouth agape?”
It was about at this point I tried desperately to regain my composure. Surely this was some kind of joke a wealthy private investor was playing on the lab.
“Well, um, no. What the hell is going on? Who sent you? Wait, who are you?”
“I would rather not hear my name butchered. For that reason, I think it best you simply call me McDonald.”
“Why McDonald?”
“That seems to be a powerful and respected name on this planet. I’m lovin’ it, are you?”
I didn’t even catch this joke or wonder how he knew about a sub-par burger joint. My mind was racing.
“Wait, honestly, who put you up to this? I’m not buying this act for a second. C’mon man, we’ve all got a lot of work to do around here and we need to keep showing important results or we’re gonna lose funding. We just got another cutback and…”
“I assure you this is no joke. I hail from the planet you’ve labeled 47 UMa b near the Ursa Major constellation. I was sent on a research mission to observe your planet and peoples, but was not planning on making direct contact. However, when I received your message, I deemed it acceptable to interact.”
“Listen, McDonald, that transmission was sent out nine years ago. Ursa Major is 42 light years away. There’s no way you could have received that signal yet, and even if you had, it would have taken you, at the very, very least, another 42 years to get
here.”
“Ah, yes. I stopped my ship several light years out from earth to check some of the systems when I received the signal. After making sure my ship was functioning properly, I tunneled through space-time to arrive here.”
“What? How?” I was thoroughly intrigued.
“I don’t have the time or desire to explain this, you earthlings are still years and years out from making the necessary discoveries. Now, take me to your Doritos.”
Was that another joke? I felt light headed and entranced. What was I to do but take my new friend to sample some of earth’s snack food?
“Um…okay. Follow me.” I said as I turned and began pacing back to the lab, with McDonald following a few steps behind. After we entered the lab, he started walking beside me, his head on a swivel.
“I find it intriguing you humans have created a network to broadcast advertisements and plays. The signals are studied closely at some of our university labs. It seems strange you would waste such precious time and resources.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess it is a little weird, but not without its merits.”
“Hmph. We have difficulty locating said merits.”
“Well, it’s entertainment. It’s creative.”
“It is both entertaining and creative to build vessels capable of intergalactic travel.”
“That’s true, but in a different way. Don’t you have plays on your planet?”
I asked my question right as we entered the break room. McDonald darted over to the vending machine.
“Yes! I recognize the packaging!”
“Here, I’ll buy them for you. What flavor do you want?”
“Cooler Ranch. The color of the packaging appeals to me. What, though, does
‘Cooler Ranch’ mean, precisely?”
I inserted the money into the machine and selected Cooler Ranch.
“I’m not sure, to be honest, even as a human.”
The bag dispensed and McDonald jammed his hand into the machine to retrieve it. He tore through the packaging and studied one of the chips.
“A snack fit for your great Brett Michaels and his harem!”
“Brett Michaels? Umm…yeah. I mean, they’re pretty good, nothing too special, though.”
McDonald placed the chip on his tongue and savored the flavor before biting into it. I waited for his response with great anticipation.
“This is…completely mediocre. Why’d you broadcast this ad at my planet?”
“Well, the lab needed money to continue operating, so the Doritos company paid us to broadcast that ad into space for publicity.”
“Let me get this straight, a junk food company had to provide the capital for this research operation to stay open? Why wouldn’t your government put more resources into this lab?”
“I don’t know, I guess priorities are a little…different…on earth.”
“I should say so! That would never happen on my planet!”
“It’s just that the research done at this lab isn’t immediately profitable, so basically no one wants to invest money in something unless they’re going to get a big return.”
“But aren't the results of your research return enough?”
“The results of this research can’t build you a castle-sized mansion or assemble a Rolls Royce. Money can.”
“Ugh. I’m leaving this strange place to report my findings. I’m gonna beat it, just beat it!” McDonald sang as he performed the moonwalk, albeit poorly. I didn’t even notice, really. My head was still spinning from the fact that he was here, and that he was leaving already.
“Already? I have so much I need to ask you! How did you tunnel through space-time? Wormholes?”
“Don’t sweat it, use Degree antiperspirant! I'll return with a larger team in a few of your earth weeks. Perhaps we can teach you the physics of the universe and you can teach us how to make mediocre snack products.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Can’t you stay a little longer, though?”
“I’m sorry, I need a larger team. And my superiors will eat me for breakfast, as you say, regardless of my nutritional value, if I don’t report and let them know I made direct contact. ET go home.”
“It’s ‘ET phone home,’ for the record. Here, I’ll walk you back to your ship.”
We exited the break room and started walking towards the exit.
“Ah, my mistake. By the way, I never did get your name.”
“Jon. My name is Jon.”
I turned and shook his hand as we continued walking.
“Yes! The customary hand shake! You earthlings say a handshake can say a lot about a man. Well, what does mine say?”
“It says you’ve never shaken hands before.”
“Ha-ha, very good! Well, Jon, perhaps when I return you can explain more about your television programming.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
“I also wish to try your Dominos Pizza and Coca-Cola and wear your Nikes.”
“Anything you want, McDonald.”
We approached his ship.
“See you soon, Jon.”
“Take it easy, McDonald.”
With that, McDonald climbed back up to the hatch of his ship.
“You may want to get out of the way of my thrusters, Jon. And remember, *****es, money, power!” he said as he flashed the ol’ Nixon v for victory sign and disappeared into his ship. I jogged back to the lab and entered the glass doors. I turned and watched his ship blast off, into the atmosphere.
McDonald. Huh. What a character.