Sometimes a Silly Notion

My mind, if improperly supervised, tends to wander off and dig into red ant piles or leave the hose running.  Sometimes, I entertain rather silly lines of thought.  I recall, many years ago (back in the unlikely days of manual typewriters and corrective ink) expending several days writing a really awful short story with a rather absurd premise.

The general layout of the story goes something like this.  Here on planet Earth our warring nations finally push the big “nuke” button (likely) and almost annihilate the human population.  Nuclear winter (somewhat likely) follows.   During the missile volleys, one of the impacts to New York City sends part of a bathroom stall partition hurtling out into space (unlikely) mostly intact.  The partition panel is covered with graffiti (very likely) and travels deep into uncharted space. 

After many years of tumbling through space, the bathroom partition is chanced upon by aliens taking Sunday drive in their space ship (unlikely that they will have noses shaped like a trumpet).  Naturally, they grab the partition and haul it back to their planet for study (likely to be the heart of this story).  After a decade or so of study the aliens not only understand how the English and Spanish languages sound—they also have some idea of certain human anatomy and they determine where the partition came from (likely that I have left the hose running at this point).  

Armed with all of this newfound knowledge, the aliens send forth a craft to seek contact with the inhabitants of Earth.  When the aliens finally land on our planet, in roughly that same place where New York City once stood, they discover an after-war wasteland.  Obviously, the human population has regressed and lost the keys (likely) to technology.  Eventually, the aliens chance upon a band of humans scavenging through a heap of junk.  At first sight, the aliens run toward the humans spouting out the terms and phrases learned from the bathroom partition.  They wave renditions of the graffiti drawings on flags they have brought with them.

Ironically, the language has managed to survive through the harsh nuclear winter mostly intact (unlikely, if you consider that the language barely survives the streets today).  Highly offended, the humans slay the aliens with clubs and crude spears.

NOTE: My sincerest apologies to the late Ken Kesey.

--Mitchell Hegman