At The Pizzeria
When you’re dying of starvation, nothing satisfies like a pizza. You cross the street in search of a cheese pie to fill your empty stomach. Strolling through the front door of the classic Italian pizzeria, you pause momentarily to breathe in the aroma of sweat, dough, and cheese before placing an order: “I’ll have an extra large plain cheese pizza with no sauce, well-done, and a liter of diet cola, please.”
“Ok buddy! That vill be $15.99,” replies a dwarfish man with a thick accent.
That’s when you remember you don’t have any money. Another wave of dizziness hits, and you resort to begging: “Please sir, I’ve had a bad day and seem to have lost my wallet. Can I pay you later?”
“No,” he responds without hesitation. “But I can see you are wery hungry, so I think ve can work out deal. My signman calls in sick today, if you wave sign for 3 hours I will give you the pizza in exchange”. Unable to think of anything else to do, you reluctantly agree and he sets about filling your order. The fresh-baked pizza slides down your throat, followed by the diet cola (diet because you’re watching your weight). Belching loudly, near-death from starvation becomes a fleeting memory.
“Ok, now you work… Things you need there, get dressed and go out front to bring clients,” the pizza maker says pointing at a large colorful sign boasting cheap pizza and what appears to be a mascot costume. Donning the cartoon-elephant head, you step into the furry suit and do a little caper. So this is how it feels to be a mascot. With a spring in your step, you head outside to shake what God gave you and sell some pizza pies.
Yes, you were coerced into doing this for pizza, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to do a good job. Remembering everything you learned in junior high social dance, you spin and twirl, cavorting about with the cheap pizza sign as if ballroom dancing with the Queen. You’re a synthesis of Kevin Bacon in Footloose and Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing, but if either of them could see you now they would know you were their better. A crowd begins to gather and soon you’re surrounded by a screaming mass of people. They cheer and applaud as you brandish your sign like a “AAA” circuit marching band leader in a parade. The sky darkens and, like a tap being slowly turned off, the crowd falls silent. With a final battement tendu jeté you stop, panting and look up, following the bug-eyed glare of the crowd.
An enormous steel sphere dominates the sky above. Slowly descending, it comes to rest upon insectoid legs just beyond your formerly enthralled audience. Presently, the mass of people parts and a figure approaches. Standing about your height and clad in shimmering red fabric, only the face of the stranger is visible. It is decidedly not human, is criss-crossed with creases and folds, and resembles a flesh-coloured flower. A voice emanates from deep within the face-folds:
“Long have we watched and waited for the one true leader of the humans to emerge. I am Clut of the Labail. My mission is to negotiate the peaceful surrender of planet Earth so that we may enslave your people and turn your lush world in to an all-inclusive resort. My people will winter here and you will serve us food and beverage made from your young. In exchange, we will not kill you and your economy will flourish. What say you, king of the humans?”
The crowd, perhaps the entire world, looks on as you carefully weigh your options. Your knowledge of alien species, garnered exclusively from Hollywood blockbusters, provides only two choices.
NEGOTIATE – CLICK HERE
SURRENDER – CLICK HERE