The Alien and the Casey

The bedroom was dark and cool in the morning. The floor was cooler than the air, and I felt little particles of dirt stick to my feet as I crossed the room to silence the shrieking oval projecting red numbers into the room. When I turned on the bathroom light, the human still in bed grumbled, but did not attempt a direct attack. I tiptoed cautiously towards the sink and – making note of my Human-Life Instruction Manual – approached the items I identified as the “toothbrush” and “toothpaste.” The top on the toothpaste tube was sticky from remnants of forgotten paste, so I turned on the water to rinse it clean. The liquid hissed into the sink and smelled slightly of sulfur; I can’t personally account for the odd smell, but the HLIM noted that this area of Earth had poor water quality. After cleaning the tube, I put the requisite amount of paste on the bristles of the brush, turned the water off, and began applying the mixture of water and paste to my teeth. The sweet, cool smell bit my nose just before the matching taste reached my tongue. As the bristles scrubbed with a muted scratching, I studied myself in the mirror, noting – almost like a human might – the elements of my person I would need to improve before emerging from the bedroom. Concentrating on correctly cleaning my teeth while simultaneously assessing the haphazard pile of makeup on the corner of the counter and mentally reviewing the day’s schedule was difficult, but I did remember to swish and spit at the appropriate time.

My next challenge nearly put me in mortal peril. Tiptoeing quietly out of the bathroom area, I made a valiant attempt to open the drawer I was informed held attire for human torsos. To my great distain, the wood seemed to be swollen with the humidity the HLIM warned me about, and as I pulled the container open, the wood squeaked! The human in bed turned over away from the light without a sound. I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the first thing my hand fell on. I returned to the bathroom area since it contained the closets as well. I identified the first closet as “Casey’s” and knew the human in bed – Casey – would not appreciate it if I attempted to pair the torso cover I’d chosen with her lower appendage attire. Instead, I rummaged through the other closet, testing each “pair of pants,” as they are called (for what reason I’m not sure since each “pair” is really one item with an extended cover for each appendage). I searched for the appropriate combination of thickness, color, and fit in order to find the “pair of pants” that would be suitable for the weather projected for the day in the HLIM, for the color of torso cover, or “shirt” I chose, and for the proportion of my figure. Finally the correct pair appeared and as I yanked them hurriedly out of the closet, the plastic item they hung on flew out of the closet, knocked into the glass mirror behind me, and clattered noisily into the sink. Casey growled and turned this time, and I knew my third warning had been delivered. I quickly selected a “pair of shoes” – a true pair this time since they are nearly exact copies of each other with the exception of an allowance for human foot-shape variances and minor design flaws revealed through age – put on the apparel, slipped my feet into the flimsy shoes and began to hurry back into the bedroom to gather my supplies for the day. As my feet moved, a horrifically loud “FLIP-FLOP-FLIP-FLOP” sound followed me. The Casey in bed lobbed a small pillow in my direction as I realized my mistake: I’d chosen the flip-flops the HLIM noted as the cause of so many deaths and decapitations of previous expeditions. I froze in my tracks, hoping the Casey would make no further attempt at decapitating me; to my great distress, the bathroom light revealed her full human face, and I couldn’t help but scream in terror. She screamed at the sight of my face as I dashed back around the corner of the bathroom. Not a moment later, she’d stopped, obviously rethinking her reaction, and I heard her curl back up under the covers as if she’d had a bad dream and not an encounter with an alien life form. My first note for this revision of the HLIM: use cloaking devices when enacting morning preparations in the same room as a Casey.