Just Relax

Sshhhhh.

Relax.

It’s ok.

I know how strange this must all feel. Just take it in for a moment.

We’re in my craft. I know, I know, it’s obviously advanced. What you would call a…UFO, I believe.

I’m sure it’s disconcerting to a being of your…oh, what’s the polite way to say this…limited perspective?

Let’s see if we can’t make you feel a little better.  

I’ll start by saying that most of what you’re thinking is wrong. Believe me, I’m well aware of how your stories … you call them “TV shows,” yes? And the other thing. “Movies.”

Look, the translator is why we can understand each other at all. And I have set it to accommodate your local colloquialisms as much as possible. But it does have its limits, especially working with the quite…well…primitive collection of sounds that you call your “language.”

Anyway, what I’m saying is that I’ve seen the stories. I’m aware of how you perceive us. And I’m here to tell you:

Most of it is just so cliche.

So, let’s take this opportunity. The receptivity activator I injected will take some time to be fully absorbed. I’m just waiting for optimal temperature and respiration levels before….well, we have a few minutes together, is the point. So let’s dispel a few myths, shall we? Put your mind at ease.

Number one:

I’m NOT going to dissect you.

It’s sweet that you think there’s something inside your physiology that is just SO valuable. But even if there were, I simply don’t go tripping around the universe, indiscriminately carving up everything I encounter.

I’d like to think I’m a bit more cultured than that, hmm?

Next, the cornfield thing.

So, okay, yes, you were technically in what you call a cornfield when my ship appeared and the ethereal beam of light floated you off the ground and into the inky darkness above. But to be clear:

I did not actually intend to land in a cornfield. I was low on fuel, that’s all.

Seriously, you creatures wake up one morning and find a few of your precious little sproutlings bent sideways, and suddenly it's all “crop circles” and “strange visitations” and “cornfields, late at night.”

Tsk.

Believe me, if it were up to me, I’d have gone to the place you call New York. Or London, maybe? Somewhere with some semblance of style.

How are we feeling, by the way? Comfortable?

Restraints not too tight? No, we can’t take them off just yet, but not to worry. You’ll see. Where was I? Oh, right, next on the list:

I am NOT going to eat you.

Yes, again, I am aware of the movies. I am aware of the absurd stereotype… I’m some sort of monstrosity here to hunt you through the jungle, capture you, and gobble you up. It’s just not accurate.

And don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly a delicacy.

Lastly…

And this seems to really be a thing with you creatures for some reason, so let me be very clear.

Despite what it says in SO many of your stories, I speak for all of us when I say…

I did not travel billions of what you so reductively refer to as “light years,” utilizing all the sophisticated technology and evolution at my disposal, simply to look up the port through which you dispose of unnecessary excrement and byproduct.

(I do have that right, don't I? I mean, it's a rudimentary design, no offense, but that is what it's for, yes?)

Honestly, darling. “Probe.” As if.

I’m at a loss as to what you think I’d learn.