3. The Gala Event of the Season

Aliens: Gurglans, Humans

Location: Free Station Pharos

“Whoever heard of a Gurglan waiter?” one of the fancy ladies whispers to another.

“Talk about disgusting,” the other replies, her painted lips curling back in disgust. I think that’s what it was, anyway. Their tentacles are braided and beset with glinting jewels. They look like shimmering stars with bad attitudes.

People don’t know this about Gurglans, but we have excellent hearing. True, we don’t have ears, so I forgive the misconception, but our entire bodies are an ear. Or rather, a sensory organ. But you probably don’t want to hear about that. When I overhear the rude remark, I decide not to go anywhere near them for the rest of the night. I hear them tapping their empty glasses and clearing their throats, but I just keep sliding by.

The party is in full swing, and it’s easy to pretend I can’t hear. The sheer volume of the crowd, mingling, laughing, vibrates through my body. I have a hard time keeping my dress coat on the outside of my body. It takes quite a bit of concentration, but I manage. It’s a rental from the caterer that I’d rather not pay full price for.

I’m carrying a tray of sizzling appetizers above me so the partygoers can easily grab them as I pass. When I’ve made a complete trip around the room, however, I notice no one took any from my tray. Another waiter, a human, takes one off of my assortment and pops it in his mouth. He gives me a wink and I feel my body temperature rise.

“How about we team up?” he asks over the din of the crowd, leaning in close to shout-whisper at me. I don’t tell him that he doesn’t have to get close for me to hear him. Instead, I wobble a little closer to him. I can feel his breath as he says, “We could make a killing tonight. As long as you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. Er, well, you know what I mean,” he says. He’s laughing. Is he nervous? Sometimes it’s hard for me to understand non-Gurglans. Their bodies can say one thing while they say another.

I try to be funny, another thing I don’t excel at with non-Gurglans. I force some of myself through the sleeve of the coat to make a pseudopod. I shiver, sending the impulse for the “arm” to sprout a “hand” with five fingers. I use it to wave at the human, who shows all of his mouth bones. Teez? Is that what they’re called? You know what I mean. The human takes my hand in his and shakes it vigorously. I form a mouth and do my best to say, “My name’s-” but then he straightens my coat and the mouth slaps together and the air bubble inside pops.

“I’m Tylan,” he says. “Nice to meet you…mmmmblop?” he says, trying to repeat the sound. I don’t correct him. We don’t really get names on Gurglan, so it may as well be Mmmmblop. I form a mouth again and ask what he wants me to do. Tylan sneakily points to the fancy ladies that I had bothered before. I nod my upper half to show I see them. “If this bothers you, say no.” He kneels down and his lips are practically touching me as he whispers, “I want you to splash on them. Get everywhere. Make a scene. While they’re distracted, I’m going to nab those jewels.” He pulls away and searches me for my answer. I look at the ladies again and they’ve spotted me. I can see how even shaking their empty glasses at me is below them.

For the party so far, I had just been scooting along the floor, slowly. In my time on star bases I’ve learned the way we typically move by sloshing and pulsing along the ground can be a bit unnerving. So that’s exactly what I do. I spread along the floor and surge forward, dragging my coat along the ground. The ladies grab each other, already revolted. I can tell Tylan is a few feet away, moving through the crowd as they let out little gasps and get out of my way.

“How can I help you?” I gurgle and burp. I make a show of moving too fast to stop myself in time. Instead, I wash up on their feet and legs. They let out squeals of contempt. The rest of me flops up like a wave and crashes onto their heads. They are full on screaming now, enraged. Tylan shows up, the hero. He’s helping pick globs of me (as well as their jewels) out of their tentacles. One of the ladies peels my waiter jacket off of her arm and throws it to the ground with a loud schlorp.

“Oh my. Oh my. Ladies we are so sorry,” Tylan says. They’re making a racket about getting me fired and Tylan just because he’s closeby. One of the caterers come over to talk to them. Tylan scoops me up in his hand and we make it for the exit. Bits and blobs of me streak along behind, slithering to carry up. Soon, I’m more or less my original size. Tylan asks if I can look like a backpack. I make a rough enough approximation, looping around his shoulders. He slows from a run to a casual walk.

“Where are we going?” I ask. Tylan joins a queue of passengers boarding a commercial transport.

“Somewhere that’s not here,” he whispers over his shoulder with a grin. When we take a seat in an empty compartment, he pulls me off his back and sets me down in the seat beside him. He says the coast is clear so I return to my normal shape. Tylan smiles broadly as he brings out one of the jewels and holds it up. It’s a bright green that almost glows in the light.

“Beautiful,” I say quietly.

“Reminds me of you,” he says and compares the stone’s color to mine.

The rest, as they say, is history. And that, children, is how I met your father.