ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
Diane and Gary came back at lunchtime. All eight of us were there–three ladies and five guys. We got taken to a small banquet room near the restaurant and Robert Buchanan made a speech at us while we ate. He ate too. Mostly what he said was that it was an honor for us to have been chosen outa the thousands of applicants. And he said what a important step this was for the people of Earth in becomin equal partners with other advanced life forms. Somehow, it seemed kinda strange listenin to some middle-aged suit talkin about beings form other planets. They were the kind that didn’t believe in that stuff just a coupla years ago, right?
After lunch we had to go back to HR and have ID pictures taken, fill out some more forms and they gave us a lot of papers and booklets in a fancy folder with the IGSDSN logo on it. Then they gave us clip-on ID badges and told us to wear them at all times. I wondered if that meant in the shower too. Like, where you gonna clip it? Ha, ha!
Then we got taken to another room where we filled out more forms for the State Department. It was for national security. I guess they were afraid we were spies. We had to take a loyalty oath and swear not to divulge sensitive information to the aliens. Like I know some!
Then we had to go smile for the press which was hard. We had to say nice things like, what an honor it was and how excited we were and hi, Mom. I still feel weird about doin that. Like I’m pretendin to be somebody important and I’m not and some day they’ll catch on to me.
Then we got to see our first aliens in broad daylight. Wow! Smash was there and this other… thing. It was a Chricktou. Triscri ap Bitcongru Ibrick, who looks like something that crawled out from under a rock. Hell, she looks like the rock. She just stood there for a few minutes while the cameras went like mad, then she left without sayin nothin. The Hoitenset ambassador is huge! And scary! Before it left, It waved at everybody, then it looked us over, shook its head like a dog shakin of water and snorted. I don’t think it approved of us. Smash stuck around, smiled a lot, took pictures with each of us, and answered a few questions. When it was my turn to get photographed with it, Smash put its arm around me and whispered in my ear, “Smile, nyegesh, it is your duty.” Then Gary and Diane shoved us out of the press room. I think PR wants us to look good, keep our mouths shut, and never do anything controversial, which suited me fine.
We didn’t get to meet each other until after dinner when they deposited us on our floor and told us to stay there. I told you about Ron and Jean. Then there’s Josh and Harrison. Josh is from NASA and Harrison is from the State Department. I guess there the ones who know secret stuff we’re not supposed to divulge. Oh, and maybe Carol. She used to be a jet engine mechanic for the Navy, except she was kinda out of a job when the aliens disappeared all the bombers. She’s pretty okay. So is Josh. Harrison seems kinda stuck up. Then there’s Allison.
Hmm? I don’t know what she did before. All she’ll say is she was sick. I think I know what kind of sick. She acts like she’s tranqued out all the time. She stares off into space a lot and she’s got stringy hair that she just pulls back into a ponytail without combin it.
Then there’s Allen. I like Allen. He must be in his late forties. He’s black and has salt and pepper hair. He’s got a funny bald spot–like his hairline retreated, makin a lagoon on the top of his head, but it left a little island in the front. He’s a musician. Keyboard. I figured he’d be into blues or jazz. Nope. Classical. Except what he did for a livin was do background music for TV.
That night, we got to know each other a little and I felt out of place, bein the youngest and the only one without a degree and all. I’ve decided I have an inferiority complex about havin no class. Course there isn’t much I can do about it now. Can’t rush out and buy a whole new wardrobe and take a crash course in talkin intelligent. So I just keep my mouth shut and listen most of the time.
So that night we sat around speculatin about what it was gonna be like workin for aliens and everybody agreed it was all pretty awesome. Then somebody asked how come we were bein kept locked up on our hotel floor. Carol said it was probably because they didn’t want us gettin lost in this hi-tech anthill. So then Josh starts in about how the Network was run by some highly intelligent species of ants that were here to enslave the world. Allison told us we were askin for trouble talkin like that. It was blasphemous. Course she knows. She’s been communicatin’ with the space brothers for years. She would tell us who the space brothers were. She just went back to starin down a light socket. Weird! Weird! Weird! And I have to live with these people!
I wish they hadn’t started talkin like that because that night I dreamed that my body turned into sugar crystals. I still looked like myself, but I was made outa those sprinkles like you decorate cakes with. Then these ants came along and carried bits of me off until there was nothin left of me. I was still alive somehow, but I was like the consciousness of this ant colony. I decided I was just dreamin weird stuff cuz this was my first night here and all.
End Text
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
Orientation. How can I describe it? Imagine your first day of kindergarten, some bizarre religious rite and goin through a meat processin plant as the product and you might come close to describin IGSDSN interpreter trainee orientation.
When Don picked me up at the airport that Monday, I was feelin like my life was … well, beginnin? Endin? Hangin on the edge? I was scared to go and anxious to get to the base at the same time. But Don had two other trainees to pick up. They seemed too old to be doin this kinda work. Like I knew what this kinda work was. Ron is a forty-ish ex-stockbroker from Denver. He used to be from Chicago, worked in grain futures or something like that until he had a heart attack, got divorced, moved to Denver and started wearin cowboy boots. Jean looks like she’s a little younger than Ron. She’s a special education teacher from Wichita Falls and sometimes she signs when she talks and she doesn’t have any ankles. Well, she’s got ankles, but the don’t taper off like they’re supposed to. Her legs just go straight down until they run into her feet. She wears sensible shoes too.
I told them I was a management trainee from an oil company outside of Chicago, but they could probably tell I wasn’t nobody. I kept thinkin, was I sittin right, was my hair parted straight, was my fly closed? Course they didn’t let on that they considered me a jerk. Which makes bein around people like them worse than bein around slobs who aren’t too polite to tell you, you got something hangin outa your nose. Classy people pretend it’s not there and then bust a gut laughin at you behind your back. I guess I’m somewhere in the middle. I wouldn’t tell you, you had something hangin outa your nose, but I wouldn’t laugh neither.
When we got to the base, it still looked normal. I don’t know what I expected–a brass band, a red carpet. I’m kiddin. Don just turned us over to a couple we call Barbie and Ken. Actually they are Gary and Diane and they both act like they graduated with honors from flight attendant school. They belong to Human Resources like Don. Diane and Gary welcomed us on behalf of IGSDSN US, Inc., said they would be happy to help us if we had any questions or problems, then they went through our luggage. Ron lost his car keys, Jean lost a bottle of sleepin pills and her camera, and they were both carryin too much cash. Wish I had that problem. All I lost was my nasal spray. After they dragged out our underwear in front of half of Human Resources (Jean wears sensible underwear too), they took us to our rooms to get settled in.
We’re stayin in the hotel durin orientation and we each have our own room, which is a real luxury to me after spendin eleven years with my shithead brother. They also have rooms set up for classrooms and a lounge. Our lounge has nice furniture and a pop and snack machine, and a pigeon hole thing for our mail. What we don’t have is TV. But we do have one whole floor to ourselves. Kinda makes you feel like a celebrity or something.
We had to wait around for the other trainees to get there so we could all get orientated together so we had time to unpack. Like I said before, there was all kinds of goodies waitin for us from sponsors–joggin suits, swim wear, underwear, shoes, deodorant, vitamins, you name it. It was just like Christmas except all the clothes were the right size. I wondered how they knew.
The first thing I did when I was left alone in my room was check to see if I was locked in. I wasn’t. In fact, they even left me a card key. I thought about goin explorin, but I decided there was no sense gettin in trouble on my first day. Isn’t that typical? When I was locked in, I was fightin to get out. Now that I had a key, I was perfectly content, sittin in my room rollin up socks.
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
I had a hard time sleepin. I kept havin dreams like I was with my family and their faces melted and they turned into really hideous aliens. Then I’d wake up soaked with sweat. Mike kept tellin me to shut up cuz I was keepin him awake. So I must’ve been talkin in my sleep. Creepy.
I spent the next day sittin around in my bathrobe guzzlin orange juice and chicken soup, then I was ready to go back to work. It felt strange. Nobody there knew what had happened to me. I’d sworn Jeff and my family to secrecy. It was hard not tellin everybody, but now that I was back home, my little trip seemed totally unreal. I kept expectin to get a letter sayin they’d made a mistake. But instead I got a ticket to DC, a list of what I could bring and a two hundred-dollar check for per diem, whatever that is. So I figured it really was for real.
I kept puttin off givin my notice at work. I’d never been away from home before and it was hard thinkin that I’d never be back here. I’d never hear George yellin at everybody, or see Lori- -not that she’d care. I’d never be the same person I was. I didn’t know how I’d change, but you don’t have to be a genius to realize that hangin around with a bunch of aliens is gonna put you through some changes. So I’d go to work and every time one of our regular customers’d come in or somebody’d make a delivery I’d stand there thinkin, I may never see that person ever again, and then I’d feel bad.
I wasn’t able to keep my new job a secret for long though. A news release went out announcin the formation of a team of human interpreters and they put our pictures in the paper. After that it got hard to even work, cuz people kept wantin my autograph and I got to talk to the mayor and be on the radio and TV and everything. The whole thing was embarrassin. Jeff had a bunch of eight by ten glossies made of me and got me to autograph em. He was sellin em for ten bucks. I couldn’t imagine anybody payin that for a picture of me–especially since Jeff was too cheap to have my zits retouched. But the velvet painting and ceramic animal business was at an all time low, so I figured Jeff could use the money.
What I didn’t know at the time was that all kinds of corporations were bombardin US Base PR Dept. with requests for sponsorship. They were willing to pay big bucks just for the right to say they feed, clothe and deodorize us. So US Base was takin in quite a bundle for grantin them the right to say, “Official Sponsor of the US Interpreter Team.” And we were gonna get all kinds of free stuff when we reported for training. I wish I’d known that before I left cuz then I wouldn’t of wasted that two-hundred dollars per diem money buyin socks and underwear and athletic shoes.
My flight left on a Monday, so the Sunday before we had a big family get-together at Busha’s house. That’s my Grandmother Wytrysowski. She made me go to mass before I left so I’d be protected from alien temptation and for a goin away present she gave me a blessed medal with a picture of Pope John Paul—the last one. That’s a big deal since Busha practically worships him, seein how he was Polish. So all the family got together and there was enough food to feed everybody for a week, all spread out on Busha’s crocheted tablecloth that she saves for special. There was ham, and pierogis, stuffed peppers, kielbasa and sauerkraut and potatoes. My Mom and my aunts kept bringin it in as fast as we could eat it. And of course kolachkis with apricot filling! My favorite! Then, when we were all about to bust, Mom brought out a big sheet cake that said, “Good Luck, Stephen” and had little plastic rocket ships all over it.
So we ate, and then the women drifted off to the kitchen with dishes and gossip. Dad and the uncles and my boy cousins ended up in front of Busha’s old nineteen-inch TV with the lousy picture, watchin baseball and drinkin beer. Kids were runnin from room to room and bein told to settle down or else. Somehow, I got left by myself in the dining room, starin at Busha’s old Last Supper tapestry and belchin up sausage spices. Every once in awhile an uncle would pass me on the way to the john or the beer cooler, slap me on the back and say, “Congratulations, Boy,” or, “Big step,” or, “Who’d a thought.” Then the kids’d stop by and ask about aliens and space ships and robots. I’d mumble some nonsense. It really wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.
I wanted to be alone with my family. I wanted to tell Mom I loved her even if she was a lousy cook. I wanted to tell Mike he wasn’t really a shithead. He was a pretty good kid, as kids go nowadays. I wanted to put my arm around my Dad and tell him I was sorry his life was so screwed up, but that it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t a failure. He was my Dad and I loved him. But he was watchin the Cubs lose and Mom was scrapin leftovers in the garbage. They were doin what they normally did and I couldn’t interrupt.
I guess it was sittin there in Busha’s old house with all the antiques and religious statues starin at me from under their dust. I felt like a time traveler who’d gone back into the past. I didn’t belong here any more. I was just passin through. Monday morning would come; they’d put me on the plane. We’d kiss and cry. Then Mom would force a sack of leftover kolachkis on me and Dad would give me some dumb advice and hit me on the arm. Then they’d be gone. They’d go back to dishes and baseball, homework and boy friends. They’d always be there just like they were and I–well, I didn’t really know.
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
Okay, when I left off, I was pukin on the plane. I got home kinda late after Jeff picked me up at the airport. I was really worried how the family was gonna take all this, but Mom made a fuss over me and microwaved me some dinner and a cup of instant coffee. Everybody but my little brother, who was asleep already, gathered in the kitchen and made me go over everything I’d done in the last two days. They were all really impressed over me flyin first class and ridin around in a Mercedes and bein wined and dined like I was a big executive or something. Mom was ashamed of me cuz I’d been to an interview and flew home dressed the way I was. I told her they never gave me a chance to change and that aliens didn’t seem to care what people wore, but she said people on airplanes are human and they care and I should be ashamed.
Mary Ellen dragged out some old newsmagazines and I had to show them what kind of alien I interviewed with. I found a picture of a Pyeshtwen eatin hotdogs with the president. In fact, the caption read, ” Ambassador Shyemiyashkete samples traditional American food.” Then everyone was real impressed cuz I’d spoken to an alien that actually knew the president. I was kinda impressed too–not cuz Smash knew the president, but that somebody that important had bothered to interview me personally and not just pass me off to some flunky.
They all wanted to know what kind of job I got, but I had to have some aspirin and some pop. I couldn’t eat my TV dinner. Well, I got down enough of it so Mom couldn’t complain about goin to all that trouble for nothin. I just wasn’t sure it was gonna stay eaten. But Dad kept askin, “What kinda job you get?” so I gulped down my pop and told him.
“I’m gonna be an interpreter for aliens who come to visit Earth.”
So Mary Ellen asked, “You hafta learn all their languages?”
“No, they have machines, like computers, that do that. I just have to learn how to operate one.” Boy, was I naive.
Dad said, “Yeah I guess you could do that.” Like he was givin me permission.
And Cathy said, “How come they picked you?”
“I don’t know,” I snapped. I certainly wasn’t gonna tell her it had anything to do with imitatin dolphins and guinea pigs. And of course, Dad asked about the pay and when I told him, he didn’t believe it. I had to drag out my copy of the agreement I signed and show them it was on official IGSDSN stationery and signed by Robert Buchanan, president and CEO of US Base, Inc.. They treated me different after that.
Jeff wanted to know if I saw any spaceships up close. No. Was I gonna get to fly in one and visit other planets. No, or I didn’t think so. He was disappointed.
Mom finally noticed I looked flushed and insisted on feelin my forehead. Then she yelled to everybody, “Oh my God! This boy’s burnin up!”
And Mary Ellen with her big mouth yells, “I bet he caught something from those aliens!” and everybody started backin away like they thought I got the plague or something. So much for family unity.
I told em no, it was just immunizations so I wouldn’t catch nothin from aliens or other humans or vice versa. At least I think that’s what the shots were for. It was just makin me a little sick like when Mike was a baby and kept us all up with his cryin when he got shots. Mom remembered that and she insisted that I go straight to bed. Thank God!
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
I guess I shouldn’t make fun of Smash the way I do. I mean, it is an ambassador and my boss, but it acts like such a flake sometimes. We haven’t got it figured out yet, but I’ve been keepin notes. So this is what I know about Smash so far. Its full name is Whurdanenle hkerahhen Shyemiyashkete. I have no idea what that means. It’s from a planet called Pyesht and I have no idea where that is or what it’s like. I don’t remember how we started callin it Smash, but we never call it Smash to its face. It’s always Urdoshkete to us, or if you really wanna make its day, illo Urdoshkete, which means my Urdoshkete. We don’t know what a Urdoshkete is yet. I think it must mean something like teacher because only us trainees are supposed to call it that. Everybody else calls it ambassador and a mangled version of Shyemiyashkete.
We have to show it respect too, and Smash has some funny ideas how we’re supposed to do that. Like it has no consideration for our privacy and it can touch us whenever it wants, but we not only have to keep our hands to ourselves, we’re supposed to keep them clasped behind our backs. We look pretty stupid followin Smash around with our hands behind us sayin, yes, Urdoshkete, no, Urdoshkete, when other humans can just come right up to it and start a conversation on any old thing the want. Smash eats with us sometimes. It likes fruit flavored pop (yuck), almost any kind of vegetables and fruit except citrus and tomatoes. It’ll eat potatoes raw, and it likes stuff like eggs, shrimp and snails, but it won’t eat other kinds of meat. It eats flowers and I don’t think it quite understands the purpose of ice cubes, but it likes the way they crunch.
Smash really is an it. We weren’t sure and we were afraid to ask it about sex. That seemed like a privacy violation. But we were walkin down the hall one day and one of the janitors just up and asks and Smash told him. It’s an it. Actually, it’s genetically male, but something happens or doesn’t happen during fetal development and people like him end up with no sex organs. It’s like worker bees. Anyway, on Pyesht they have four sexes–females and males and sterile females and males. Must get complicated. I don’t know how they tell each other apart, but then Smash is the only Pyeshtwen I’ve met. There are others, but they don’t hang around much like Smash does. I also found out from one of the maintenance men that Smash is the only Pyeshtwen he’s ever seen smile. It had to teach itself to smile cuz their mouths don’t naturally go that way. So in spite of that killer hedgehog look, you gotta give Smash credit for makin a effort to look friendly.
Smash spins. I don’t mean around in circles, I mean thread. God only knows what it does with the thread. Since my interview, I’ve never seen Smash use a translator and it doesn’t like computers or pop machines. It finds them confusing. So that’s what I know about my boss, such as it is.
I don’t draw good, but here’s a picture that kinda looks like Smash.
End Text
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
10-28-2016 EST
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowski
TEXT
We had chicken salad for lunch. Cold chicken salad. I guess it woulda been good, but it was chicken – again.
We stared at each other for what seemed like forever before it finally smiled, if you want to call it that, and said, “You got sufficient time for be accustom to my appearance, huh?” Only, it said it with a funny accent, like, “Yoooo got shfishun too-im for beh acchooshtoom meh upperunsh, hyeh?”
After I figured out what that meant, I said something like, “I, uh, gulp, it doesn’t bother me.” No, but its smell sure did. It didn’t like that answer. It said, “Don’t lie Shtebbenesh.”
“Well,” I answered. “I’m kinda surprised. I didn’t expect…nobody told me. You’re one of the Network Representatives?” Like what else would it be?
Its pupils widened and it said, “You remember me, hyeh?”
“Remember?” I figured it maybe didn’t know the right word. “You mean recognize?”
It paused a minute. “Recognize. That is correct word, hyeh? You recognize me, hyeh?”
“Well, I’ve seen people like you on TV and in the papers.”
“You want talk with me, no matter for that, hyeh?”
“Well…yeah.”
Its fake smile widened. “You help me be happy, Shtebnyegesh. I is happy for you be curious more is survival instinct.” The Shtebnyegesh threw me. I guessed it was supposed to be my name. “I has a hope,” it continued, “You want be Network.”
I figured it was askin if I wanted to work for the Network. “Oh yes…” What was I supposed to call it? Sir? Madame? Your Royal Ugliness? I got brave and asked.
It blinked at me funny and said. “My name is Shyemiyashkete. How do you do?” I said I was fine and it said it was fine too. Then it added, “You call me Urdoshkete.” That was an order.
“Urdoshkete,” I repeated. It made me say it six times before it was satisfied with my pronunciation. You got to pretend you just sucked a lemon and have peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth to get it right.
Finally, it said, “Nyish,” which I think meant “nice,” but I’m not sure. “This is for you first word Pyeshtme you learn. Remember it,” it ordered, then rubbed its chin. “Recognize it.” It wasn’t sure anymore which word was right. I confused it.
It cooed at me and wriggled like a puppy when you scratch its ears. Weird. “Shtebnyegesh, you make me want liking you. Can I keep you?”
You remember in the movie how Renfield looked when he first met Count Dracula? I must’ve looked like that. “Uh, what do you want to keep me for, uh, Urdoshkete?” I asked, but I was thinkin, a slave, a pet, a rich source of calcium and protein?
The Urdoshkete person made a strange sound in its throat and stared at its fingers. “Five. Five year Earth year. This is long time, hyeh?” I nodded. I guess it knew what a nod meant cuz it continued. No going home nighttime. No going home at Sunday for religion. You staying here.” It waved one of its long hands in the air. I be nice. I say okay for going home vacation for see Erdwenle family for you don’t be lonely and sad. I understand this be strange and a fear for you. I don’t make you having pain and unhappy.” I loved its choice of words. I sat their sweatin ice water and it tried even harder to smile even though it made it look like a rabid aardvark. “I want you have pleasure and interesting. I can keep you for five years, hyeh?
I licked my lips and swallowed hard. “Does that mean you want to hire me?”
It gave me this real serious stare like I was nuts for askin such a dumb question. “No. You stay same high you is.”
This was gettin frustratin. “I mean, what do you want me to do? What job?” And I added a “hyeh” since it seemed to think you had to have one to ask a question.
It blinked its eyes at me a couple of times, then doubled over choking. I was beginnin to wonder if you could use the Heimlich maneuver on aliens, but it started talkin again between coughs. I have since learned that what it was doin was laughin at me.
“You want job!” it announced. “I give you very important job.” It sat up straight and patted the chair seat. “Come! Sit!”
I hesitated. It wasn’t just that I felt funny sittin that close to something that alien. I also didn’t appreciate bein ordered around like a dog.
“Come! Sit here!” it repeated. “I don’t bite you. I is vegetarian. And my noses suffer of smelling you when you noses suffer of smelling me. That is for teach tolerance.”
I sat down slowly next to it. It was right about the smell. It wasn’t terrible, just different. Hard not to think about. This was like when you’re a little kid and you go to the mall to see Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny and sit on his lap. I mean, you’re little and it’s big and strange. After you’ve done it a few times you know it’s just a person in a costume or one of those computer animated stuffed animals, but part of you still believes it’s real and you talk to it like it is. I mean, it’s like bein in two worlds at the same time–reality and make believe. This was like that. I knew this Urdoshkete was real, but part of me really wanted to see wires comin outa its ass.
“Look here,” it ordered and pointed to its anorexic thigh with the bony middle finger of one hand. A dull gray object the size of a saucer–the cup kind, not the flyin kind–was layin there. It wasn’t there before, and I didn’t see it pick it up from anywhere, but then I was real nervous so I mighta missed something. “You see this, hyeh?” it asked. I nodded and it looked relieved.
“This thing people use for communicate other people languages. I don’t use. I learn speak you language with not translator. Is for polite. Is for understand human think. No need translator.” I held my tongue, well not actually. I didn’t argue the point.
“You look,” it instructed, then it held the translatin device up for me to see. It was fan shaped, like half a clamshell, and it didn’t have no markings. Just a lot of indentations. It laid the object back on its leg and pressed its palm down on it. The object sort of melted until it was curved to fit the alien’s thigh. “Now it stay, ” it said, then it pressed something on top. All the indentations lit up in a dull pink light. Then the Urdoshkete spoke. “This translator helps us to speak English so that you may understand us clearly.”
It was weird. I could hear the Urdoshkete whisperin in a strange language, but louder, comin from the device was that Skyrider voice speakin perfect English. Watchin it speak was like watchin a Kung fu movie–its mouth out of sync with what I was hearin. Its hand moved over the device like it was playin a musical instrument, only the music was language. It could change speed and pitch, go from formal to slang; it even imitated me, which was embarrassin, but pretty cool.
Finally it turned the translator off and said, “You like this, hyeh?” I nodded. “You want do work this, hyeh?”
“Sure!” I reached over and touched the translator and ended up on my ass on the floor. It was like stickin my finger in a light socket.
What was worse was the eardrum-detonatin screech the alien let out. Then it yelled at me. “I no say touch! You no don’t touch! You no don’t ask touch! Shame on you!” And all the time it’s screamin at me, its got its lip stuck out and its pupils were dilated real big and its eyelids were turnin purple. I thought it was gonna kill me!
“Don’t do shiver, shiver, shiver.” It said more calmly. I no do kill you. That stupid think.” It sat down again and rubbed itself like it was brushin something off its skin.
I crawled back to my own chair and dragged myself into it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I misunderstood.” I babbled.
The alien rubbed its chin with its lip and said, “I think we do a mistake. I think you is not ready for this.”
That really freaked me. I figured I’d flunked my interview, but I wasn’t ready to give up. “I promise I’ll never touch nothin again without askin! I swear! But I could learn that. I’m real good with electronics and language and stuff!”
Its eyes narrowed to turquoise slits. “I know that. You is curious. I know that a danger for you. I don’t give you danger. You don’t play with translator now. You don’t need anyway for be interpreter.”
I wasn’t sure I understood that, but it said something about later, so maybe there was still hope. “Does that mean you’re still thinkin about hirin me?”
It shook its head back and forth in a crude imitation of the human gesture. “No, I don’t think about that. I thinked about that before now. Now I think other stuff is not your business.”
“Does that mean you’ve made a decision, Urdoshkete, sir?” From the way it was wrigglin its fingers and lookin at me funny, I knew it didn’t understand. “To hire me?” As I said it, I remembered the confusion the word hire had caused before. “I mean, to let me stay here and work?”
“I say before I want keep you. You forget, hyeh? Electricity make go away important memory stuff, hyeh?”
It thought I had amnesia. “No! I remember fine. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t change your mind.”
“I don’t change mind. Only got one.” It started chokin again. “That is funny, hyeh? Good joke, hyeh?”
Just what I needed, an alien who thought it had a sense of humor. And I’m supposed to understand when it was kiddin. I think it realized I was confused. “Okay I say it. You, Shtebbenesh, is trainee for interpreter. I pay you Earth money for that. You feel good now, hyeh? Don’t be scared now, hyeh?”
I was hired! It planned to hire me all along. All it wanted was for me to agree to do….I still didn’t know what. “Uh what do you want me to do? My job duties and all?” I added, “hyeh?”
“Help peoples come to Earth. Tell us how to be with human peoples so we be nice and don’t do mistake make a problem. No say president do peepee on TV.” It looked at me like it was waitin to see if I was gonna get outraged over that, but I didn’t. “I pay you money fifty-thousand dollars. That is many monies, hyeh?”
I didn’t want to give it the idea that it was overpayin me, even though it was, so I just nodded and said, “I can live with that.”
It cocked its head to one side and said, “I think you can live with not that.” Then it remembered, “I tell you also, I give you benefits. I don’t know what is benefits. Human lawyers and accountants say we must do that, is human law.”
I tried to explain. “That’s like health and life insurance. So if I get sick or die there’s money to pay…”
Its eyes flashed and it almost came up out of its chair. “You don’t be sick! You don’t die!”
“Well,” I explained,” “It’s not like I’d do it on purpose, but these things happen.”
“No! We don’t let you be sick! No sick! No starve! No die!”
What did it think, I was some orphan in a save the children ad? Weird! “Okay, Urdoshkete, no problem. I don’t wanna get sick either.”
It relaxed and faked a smile. “Good, Shtebbenesh. We take good, good care of interpreters. You don’t have a fear for that. We give benefits anyway for make human lawyers and accountants happy don’t make a argue.”
It leaned back in its chair and sighed, “I think this is enough close encounter. You make me tired. Go away.” Subtle. “You say at Don person, he make you do things they make people do I don’t know. Okay.”
It was over just like that. I got up to leave, but I felt I should say something, so I said, “Thank you, Urdoshkete. It will be a pleasure working for you.”
It looked at me like I was crazy and said, “No, it not be so.” But then it smiled and held out its hand. It wanted to shake hands. I wasn’t sure how to do that with it havin two thumbs and all. I held out my hand where it could reach it. It laid its fingers down my palm. They reached way past my wrist. Then it wrapped its thumbs around the back of my hand and shook my hand awkwardly. It was a lot warmer than I expected.
After that things moved fast. Don took me to Human Resources. Considerin what this place is, that sounds funny to me. I mean, do they have like a inhuman resources? He turned me over to this lady who made me fill out a bunch of forms for insurance and taxes and stuff. I kept wonderin if guys like Batman and Superman had to worry about stuff like FICA?
After that, Don took me back to the lab coat guy who stuck me full of needles and made me drink some really putrid stuff. After I’d already taken it, he told me I was gonna get feverish and nauseous for a few days, but not to worry about it. Yeah, I’d heard that before. Then I was done
Don had my suitcase ready and we left for the airport. We didn’t talk. I don’t even remember the trip. I just sat there in a daze. At the airport, Don checked my luggage and checked me in like I was luggage, incapable of doin anything myself. He turned me over to the flight attendant who put me in first class again. I didn’t care. I was exhausted, mind-boggled, scared shitless, and, as soon as we were in the air, I went to the john and threw up.
End Entry
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
TEXT
Okay, I left off where Don was takin me for another interview. I thought he was takin me to the Human Resources Office. Man, was I ever wrong. I think where he took me was like the dungeon.
We went through the hotel part and back through the central lobby, which was crowded with people givin my cutoffs funny looks. Then we went down more halls and through a door where Don had to use a card to get us in. Then we went down an elevator and another hall where, there was nobody to look at me at all. We ended up in a little waitin room and Don told me to sit. It was kinda like a doctor’s office–nice couches and a glass topped table with a stack of National Geographics. Don picked up a magazine and I sat there with my palms sweatin, tryin not to think about goin for another interview or the way I was dressed for it. I decided I’d look at a magazine too, but I heard, or thought I heard, someone say, “Please come in, Stephen.” I wasn’t sure though, so I asked Don if he said something.
“No, why? Did you hear someone say something?” he asked.
“Yeah, well, I thought I did. Guess not.” That sounded dorky.
Don closed his magazine. “What did you hear someone say?”
“’Please come in, Stephen.’ Only it sounded like…” I didn’t want to tell him it sounded like a voice inside my head, but just as I quoted the voice, it said, “Yes! Come in, Stephen!” I was gettin like a echo.
Don looked at me like I was stupid and said, “If someone asked you to go in, I suggest you do it.” Then he pointed to a door.
I want to the door, then looked back at Don, but he already had his nose stuck in his magazine. Some help. So I told myself to relax. Nothin really awful had happened so far; no matter what kinda asshole I made a myself. Besides there was nothin really wrong with goin on a job interview in a Three Stooges T shirt and smelly Adidas®. God! I wanted to die!
I didn’t have time though, because just then, the door slid open like the doors do at the grocery store, and I heard the voice insistin that I come in. I stepped inside the room and the door slid shut behind me. At this point, backin out was not an option, even though every cell in my body was screamin, get me outa here!
It was like walkin into a refrigerator, cold and damp. It even smelled like the inside of a refrigerator–like somebody left broccoli and bananas in there too long. And it was dark too, like a candlelit restaurant, only this was in no way romantic. There was nothin in the room except two large, overstuffed chairs and one of them was occupied. The occupant pointed to the other chair and said, “Shit dune.”
I woulda laughed if I hadn’t a been so stunned by what said it. I mean, Don told me I wasn’t gonna get to meet any aliens and there one was. I shat—uh, sat down across from it and we stared at each other.
It wasn’t really all that peculiar. It had all the right body parts in the right amounts, all the way down to five fingers. Well, it actually had three fingers and two thumbs, one on each side of its hand. It kept puttin the tips of its thumbs together across the back of its hands and pullin its fingers back through the loop its thumbs made. It had long, bony fingers with too many joints And its skin color. It was a blotchy greenish brown, like the color of not quite ripe pecans. Its legs were long like its arms and it had one foot up on its thigh with its toes wrapped around its hip.
It took awhile before I could look into its eyes. They were all turquoise iris with no whites and they gave me that creepy feelin This thing–person–didn’t have any eyebrows, or eye lashes or ear lobes and it had a nose like a Barbie® Doll. It’s hair, if you wanna call it hair, reminded me of wilted leaves or limp feathers, and it’s the color of a bleached blonde who spent too much time in a swimmin pool with too much chlorine–kinda greenish. But what looked really weird was its long, flexible upper lip that it kept stretchin down and rubbin its sharp little chin with. I’ve considered tellin Smash it looks gross when it does that, but I don’t have the guts.
Oh! They’re callin me to go to lunch. I’ll have to finsh this later.
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA < ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
Text:
Don finally came to get me. I was really gonna let him have it for lockin me up, but he didn’t give me a chance. He just said, “Come with me.” I asked where. “Physical,” was all he said.
“Shouldn’t I change?” I asked. I was wearin cutoffs and a T-shirt
“You’re going to get a physical, not meet the president. Come on,” I decided he had an attitude problem.
Don led me through the halls to a place with a sign that said “MEDICAL SERVICES”. I was turned over to a guy in a lab coat who made me pee in a cup and took half the blood outa my arm. Then he weighed me and measured me and told me to have a seat.
I knew I couldn’t get through a medical exam without bein made to wait. It must be like in the Hippocratic oath. Make your patients wait so long they’ll think anything you do to them afterwards will seem like heaven compared to waitin. Oh, and charge em rent for takin up space. Ten bucks a minute.
I didn’t have to wait too long here though–bout as long as it takes for my blood to clot. The lab coat guy came back, took the little bandage and cotton ball off my arm, and told me to strip. Kinky. I laid my clothes on a bench and he led me into this weird room. I mean Earth-type normal weird, nothin alien. The walls were lined with computer screens and keyboards and electronic stuff. On one side of the room was a raised square platform made outa wire mesh with a metal border around it. The doctor, or whatever he was, told me to stand in the middle of the platform. I felt real self-conscious like I was standin on a stage naked. I chuckled and said, “Beam me up, Scotty.”
The guy looked disgusted like he was thinkin, if one more jerk makes that same tired joke, I’m gonna electrocute him. But all he said was, “Stand with your feet apart, your arms away from your body and keep your eyes closed.” Kinkier. I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told. After all, he had the controls.
I could see lights come on even with my eyes closed and there was a deep humming noise. I almost wiggled cuz it felt like electric seltzer bubbles were collectin on my skin and it tickled. I considered scratchin, but I didn’t want to move. I think I could have, but for some reason I felt like tryin to control my muscles would take too much effort. Besides, it felt good havin those little bubbles sizzlin all over me. Then it felt like they were inside me too. It felt like I was made outa little tingly bubbles. Then it felt like something was slicin me up startin with my head and workin its way down. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like, if I moved, I’d fall over like a stack of shaved Polish ham. I had a speech teacher in high school that used to call me the Polish ham. I didn’t mind it from him. His name was Vorujiek.
Then it all stopped. The light went off and the lab coat guy told me to get dressed. That was it. Don was waitin for me again. All he’d say about that weird physical was that it wouldn’t make me sterile. Then he laughed. I asked him what was next. Lunch. Cheeseburgers and a chocolate shake. A real one. And more sports talk. I wanted to slug him.
After lunch, Don took me back to my room–or he started to. We got as far as the hallway on my floor, then Don started beepin. He pressed something on his belt touched his ear and stared at the floor. He told me to come on and headed back to the elevator. I asked him where we were goin.
“They said they want to see you now.”
“Whose they?”
“HR.” I had to ask what that was. “Human Resources.” Dummy.
End Text
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
Text:
That was a pretty strange dream I had that night, but afterwards I must’ve slept pretty sound because somebody came in my room while I was sleepin and left me breakfast. Scrambled eggs, ham, blueberry muffins, fresh squeezed orange juice and a whole pot of coffee. My favorite stuff for breakfast, not that I ever get it at home.
So I stuffed my face again, then I took a shower and shaved. I didn’t even need none of the stuff I brought with me. They had little soaps and shampoo and shavin cream and stuff, all with the IGSDSN logo on it. They even left me a razor and a comb and a toothbrush. They thought of everything.
By the time I got dressed it was almost 10:00. Don never said when he’d be back so I waited. There wasn’t no TV. So I drank more coffee and put my suitcase up on the rack thing with the straps. I checked the drawers for stuff, but they were empty. Not even a Bible left by Gideons. I was gettin real bored, so I decided to do a little explorin on my own. The door was locked. It was an electronic lock, so I thought maybe you had to have the little card, but I didn’t have a little card and there was no place to stick it on the inside of the door. They had locked me in my room like a prisoner instead of a potential employee. I paced and fumed and called aliens a few good names in plain old English, and then I decided to call the front desk and complain. Nobody answered. Some service.
As long as I was messin around with the phone, I decided I better call home seein as how I left without much of an explanation. I even considered tellin em I was bein held prisoner and have em call our congressmen, but I didn’t want to piss the aliens off and cause a big political incident. I’d have to pretend that everything was fine. I dialed direct to see if it’d go through. I figured if I was bein held prisoner, the least I could do is run up a phone bill.
Mom answered the phone, and as soon as I said, hi this is Steve, she started bombardin me with questions. “Where are you? Are you alright? Why’d you take off like that? Don’t you know you had me worried sick?” The more she talked the louder she got. I had to interrupt to save my hearing. I told her I was on a job interview in DC.
“Job interview? What kind of job interview?” she yelled at me, then to someone else, “It’s Steve! Says he’s on a job interview!”
I told her it was a secret and it was for the government. I didn’t lie. It was a secret from me and I didn’t say whose government. I told her I was in a nice hotel and I was eatin real good and the government was payin for it, so not to worry.
Then Dad got on the phone. I told him the same story and he said, “How much’s it pay?”
I told him we hadn’t talked salary yet, but they didn’t fly people to Washington first class to interview for a job that paid minimum wage.
“First class! They flew you first class?” That’s what I said, Dad. “Why? You don’t know how to do nothin special.” Gee thanks, Dad. “What kinda job you say this was?”
Uh oh, I’d tripped his trigger. The only people he knew of that flew first class were management types. I had to come up with something he’d accept, something I could possibly do, that wouldn’t piss off a laid off steel worker. “I think it has to do with keepin out illegal aliens and stuff.” He’d be thinkin border patrol or drug enforcement, and I got the alien part in there. “Gotta go Dad. Tell everybody I said hi.” I hung up the phone before he could ask anymore questions I’d have to lie about.
I laid back on the bed. Callin home had been a mistake, but at least it would give them a chance to get used to the idea that I wasn’t plannin to spend my life livin at home and workin at a truck stop. But then, if I didn’t get this job that was how I was gonna end up. It was bad enough bein trapped in a hotel room with nothin to do but pick my nose ( I didn’t really), but now it seemed like even goin home was a trap. So, like which trap did I prefer?
So I stared out the window at the newly planted trees and the flower beds full of marigolds and petunias, listened to the water sprinklers go, “tish, tish, tish”, and cussed out the aliens for makin everything in this place so God damned normal and boring.
Course the problem wasn’t them. I wished I could be happy with my job and watchin TV football and drinkin cheap beer at the corner bar like everybody else I knew. I mean…well, that’s life, right? But I hated it and I hate myself for feelin that way. I don’t have any ambitions of bein a rich snob or anything. It’s just that sittin in a hotel or sittin at home or sittin anywhere wasn’t my idea of a life. But that’s what people do–sit around their whole lives waitin for the boring parts to get over and hopin for a little excitement which never happens cuz they’re just sittin. Pretty crummy way to spend eighty odd years if you ask me. All I wanted was a little adventure–a little somethin to make puttin up with shit worthwhile. I was depressed as hell. I decided maybe I should have my head examined, but the aliens decided the rest of me needed it to.
End Text
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARASta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
Text:
Don was waitin for me. I wanted to ask him what the hell kinda interview was that, but he spoke first. “Hungry?” I was starvin!
He led me through the unmarked maze of hallways to some big wooden doors that actually had a sign over them to tell you where you were.
IGSDSN VISITOR ACCOMMODATIONS AND CONVENTION CENTER
It looked like a hotel to me. It had a front desk and a pool and a lounge and a restaurant. Alright!
This place also reminded me of a big, fancy hospital, so I thought they’d have a cafeteria. Nope. It was a regular restaurant with real tablecloths and napkins and flowers and a wine list. I guess if you’re entertainin heads of state and business tycoons, you don’t make em carry a tray. I got to order anything I wanted and I didn’t have to pay for nothin, so of course I ordered a steak. We had wine too. Imported. With a cork. I acted like I did this all the time and, yes Mom, I put my napkin in my lap and used the short fork for my salad. I had bleu cheese dressing too.
About half way through my salad I started to feel a little better. Between havin a hangover, only gettin four hours sleep, flyin and goin without food, I had a right to feel groggy. No wonder I passed out durin my interview. God! What a jerk! I was surprised they didn’t throw me back on the first plane home–baggage class. But here I was, gettin the royal treatment. Maybe they were just bein polite. I decided it was time to pump Don. Like this:
“What happens next?”
“You get to rest until tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“They either have me drive you back to the airport or you get a physical.”
“When will I know?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Wonder how I did?”
“No way to know. What do you think of the Cubs this year?”
“There okay. Won’t make it through the playoffs. Do you know what I’m interviewin for?”
“No. How about the Sox?”
“No left handed pitchin. Do you know what they look for?”
“In a pitcher?”
“No! The al…Network Ambassadors.”
“No. How about the Colts? They gonna be any good this year?”
I was gettin pissed. “Who are they?”
Don looked a little puzzled. “The Indianapolis Colts? You’re from Indiana aren’t you?”
“Hammond. We don’t acknowledge any sports in Indiana except high school basketball and auto racin. I’m a Bears fan.”
I figured somebody told this guy what to talk about with an uneducated, blue-collar kid who was still fightin zits. They figured all I’d know about was stuff like sports. Well, I was not playin their game. “Who was the lady who interviewed me?”
“What lady?” He was still bein stupid.
“The one you took me to see.”
“What did she look like?”
“Dark. Long, black hair. Long legs.”
He chuckled. “You like the exotic type, eh?” I was confused. He explained. “Everyone’s interviewer looks different. Whatever you’re attracted to is what you see. They’re a projection. They’re not really there.”
“Oh, come on!” I said. No way was I gonna believe that.
“Happens all the time,” he said. “You have to be careful. If you run into someone you don’t know, it could be one of the Network representatives projecting.” He nodded toward a table across the room. “See that lady with the gray-haired man?” They were smilin and talkin like everybody else. “She hasn’t touched her coffee. She hasn’t moved anything. They can’t when they’re projecting. What does she look like to you?”
I shrugged. “A middle-aged lady in a light blue suit.”
Don laughed. “She’s young enough to be his daughter and she’s wearing a red dress with no back.”
I thought I had to be lookin in the wrong place, but there was no one in the room that fit Don’s description. Don smiled. “See? Two different people looking in the same place, seeing whatever fits your expectations.”
I stared at the lady, then at Don. Then I laughed. “I get it! This is one of those pull-one-over-on-the-new-guy gags right?”
Don gave me a funny look then he shook his head. “You figured that one out too fast. But I had you going there didn’t I?”
I laughed weakly. I wasn’t in the mood for gags. Don escorted me to my room, which was a normal hotel room. I was surprised to see that, accordin to the clock radio it was seven forty-eight. Dinner didn’t take that long, neither did the interview, but I was too tired to figure it out. Hell, the clock was probably broke. I stripped to my shorts and hit the bed.
I woke up suddenly durin the night. I had been dreamin that I was tellin somebody about Lori, and how mad and hurt she made me feel, and that women in general confuse me. Then I went on about supportin my family and how much hamburger costs when it’s mostly fat that cooks away. Then I was in the grocery store with a cart full of stuff, but when I got to the checkout counter, I didn’t have any money and my cart disappeared. Everybody started laughin at me. I got scared and started runnin down he aisles, but they turned into a maze with green carpet. I couldn’t find my way out, but I had to because somethin horrible was tryin to catch me. Then I was back at home in my own bed, bein force fed pierogis. All in all, it was a pretty weird day.
End Entry
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
Text:
I forgot I have some pictures I took when I came for my interview. They’re outside the base. When I went inside, they searched me and took my camera. But they were nice enough to give it back when I left. You know, the other humans who work here were a whole lot nicer when I first came than they are now. Maybe they do that on purpose to suck you in. Anyway, here are the pictures. I scanned em. I think I’m getting pretty good with all this computer stuff, considerin.
This is the road sign where you turn off to go to the base.
This is the wall along the driveway. It says Intra-Galactic Self-Determinant Species Network IGSDSN and its got marigolds in front of it and some kinda bushes but they weren’t in bloom. They really seem to have a thing for marigolds. Musta got a good deal on em.
End Text
ENG-NAMSTAN/ROMA/ARA
Sta.127/Opr.127
Namcol/namcol-autodict.
Subj: Private Journal—Stephen Anthony Wytrysowaki
Text:
When I got off the plane my escort was there to meet me. I don’t know how he knew I was me, but he did. He was a thirty-ish lookin guy in gray pants and a Navy blue jacket with an IGSDSN logo on the pocket. He asked me how my flight was and asked me if I was nervous and told me not to be–polite stuff. Then he took me and my suitcase and put us in a dark gray Mercedes with diplomatic license plates and real leather seats. You could smell em! I was tryin to act like I did this all the time, but my insides were goin, “Wow!”
Don, the escort, kept makin polite conversation like it was part of his job description. He told me that mostly he escorted government people who came here to meet the ambassadors. He didn’t call them aliens and he said he liked them fine. They were always considerate and didn’t treat him like hired help. The only problem was that some of them liked to practice their English on him and he had a hard time not laughin.
He said I probably wouldn’t see any of the Network reps because most of the people who worked in the GAA were human. I had to ask what GAA was. General Access Area. Don said I wasn’t expected to know anything like terminology or protocol and procedures, and that I’d be escorted through the whole process. He said there wasn’t anything too difficult, a physical, some questions, but no tests. Then he asked me what job I was interviewin for.
I told him I didn’t know. I got this call from a lady, only it wasn’t a real lady, and she made me do imitations of Earth animal species over the phone and I felt real silly doin it. Then she told me to get on the plane, but she never told me what for. Don let out this surprised, “Oh!” then got real quiet and formal with me. And I’m not supposed to be nervous?
IGSDSN, USA Base is outside of Washington. When we turned off the highway, we came to a sign that said:
IGSDSN USA BASE OFFICIAL BUSINESS ONLY
On both sides of the drive there were white concrete walls with young trees and bushes planted in front of them, but there were no gates or guards. At the end of the drive, the road widened into a moderate size parkin lot flanked by the same white walls on the sides and a long building at the end. Almost the entire front of the building was tinted glass. You could drive right through the flower beds and crash through the front if you wanted to. Except we were probably bein watched and if we weren’t supposed to be there we’d a been stopped before we got this far. But the base looks open and friendly. It was hard to believe it had anything to do with the government and aliens. I don’t know what I expected–something bizarre and inhuman. Well, it wasn’t.
Don drove through the almost empty parkin lot into an underground garage. He took my suitcase and led me through a door and down a hall, then through another door, into a big, open area inside the main building. This lobby is the crossroads for a whole bunch of hallways. The floor here like the hallways is covered with thick squashy green carpet and the walls are sky blue. Up above there’s a big domed skylight that looks like something out of a church. Clear leaded glass that looks kinda like tree branches against the sky. Real pretty. But there’s all these halls and no signs tellin you where you’re at. There was a lot of people comin and goin, but I have no idea how they knew where they were comin from or goin too. I stuck real close to Don.
He took me to the washroom so I could straighten up. It was normal lookin men’s room. I was disappointed. But I got rid of my three cups of coffee. Splashed some water on my face and combed my hair. I even remembered to zip. I was as ready as I was gonna get.
Don led me through the hallway, past offices and lounges and rooms full of computers. That was the only thing strange I noticed. No doors. Everything was public. And there were no room numbers or signs to tell you what went on where. But Don knew where he was goin. He took me to a small, quiet room and assured me he’d be back after he dropped my suitcase off in my hotel room.
I was sittin in a room with no windows and no furniture except a desk and two chairs. No file cabinets, no potted tree, not even a phone. All it needed was one of those lights to shine in your eyes while you get interrogated, but it didn’t have one a those neither. Every minute I sat there I got sweatier and my head felt like a heard of elephants wearin football cleats was stampedin through it There I was, not knowin where I was, who was gonna interview me or what they were interviewin me for. How was I supposed to anticipate what kinda dumb mistakes I might make and plan a defense against my own stupidity? But I didn’