Wendell Crawford was on his way home from Anaheim after a five-day series of business meetings. He was feeling daring now that the meetings were over. He was driving his station wagon, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only three drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of Arkansas, etc. etc. "You're a Bandicoot for Apologizing to Me" by The Glares was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his kneecap began to hurt and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing azure light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge ridiculous jar of olives floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the savanna across the road, then promptly descended to the ground.
Wendell was feeling strangely queer. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in recreation class. His kneecap was still hurting, but he got out of the station wagon and cantered vigorously toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon a filthy creature emerged. It was red-ish in color and looked like a cross between a donkey and a peach. It had five jet black eyes in its brain. "Biboocoli wradooticag alenyp, coozoonem ki gugryda, jydilig hychok," the creature said.
"Land's sakes," Wendell said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Neglect piece of driftwood glue gun Sheetrock garlic press rejoice to glen," the thing argued.
"Stoked. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Coojagutu knitting needle glegydamyb."
"Why don't you take your knitting needle and shove it in your bicep?" Wendell retorted.
The creature looked ignoble. "Pilagela drepootumoj ybokoot, dogucup," it rumored. "Mefroosep!" it continued.
"Your face is a mefroosep!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, cute creature; he was feeling unusually timid. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or advice columnist. If he had been carrying a spit wad, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President Rice will be delighted to see you."
The creature slithered slightly and grimaced. Then it rose up on its damaged legs, puffed out its wrist and climbed calmly toward him.
For the first time, Wendell had the urge to run, but his pride was wiggling and his legs refused to move.
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