Take them bowling
"Why not take them bowling?"
"What? Grant, why would they want to go bowling? They can
barely stand!"
"Everybody I know likes bowling."
"Everybody you know, except me, is in your bowling league.
Of course they like bowling." She kissed him and ruffled his
hair.
-----
The Kush looked like stereotypical
representations of aliens from before Contact. Big heads, big eyes,
little bodies. They came from a low-gravity planet. With new alien
visitors arriving every week or two, escorting them had gone from
enthralling to boring, and then to a chore avoided whenever possible.
As the lowest on the totem pole at the Missouri Tourism Board, it
was Melinda's job.
-----
"Museums. Have seen."
"But there are all kinds of museums. Art museums, natural
history museums, museums of antique cars..."
"All kinds. Have seen. What else?"
It turned out that her visitors had seen or had no interest in
plays, 3D theatrical recordings, natural wonders, rivers, the Arch,
shopping malls, performance art, and NASCAR. Melinda rolled her eyes.
"What about bowling?"
-----
Samson tottered forward and dropped the ball. It rumbled slowly
down the lane, veered to the right, and dropped into the gutter. The
rest of the Kush cheered wildly, clapping and whistling. She
realized why when the next alien struggled up to the lane, clinging
to a motorized walker. Samson put a ball in its hands and it
rolled the ball off the top of the walker. The ball rolled past
the end of the gutter and into the next lane. The clapping and
cheering was a little less vigorous this time. 60 minutes
later, Samson was up for the last time. The Kush had yet to
knock over a pin, but they really seemed to be enjoying themselves.
They ate hotdogs and nachos, cheered themselves hoarse, and got
high on Mountain Dew. They quieted down when Samson reached the
lane. He took aim, slung his arm back, then forward, and released
the ball. It rolled down the lane, dead center. Closer to the pins.
Closer. It started turning to the right. It kissed the last pin as
it disappeared over the lip. One, no, two pins were down. The crowd
went wild.
-----
The Kush signed the trade deal. A few weeks later Melinda got a
package in the mail. Inside, a miniature gold bowling pin, a photo
of two small Kush, and a note. "We enjoy native mating ritual."
Publ. Daily Cabal 2008
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