Make It So, Ho Ho Ho!

(October 29, 2002)

A reader emailed me in response to the Star Trek reference from the other day, saying that her husband got her interested in The Next Generation. That reminds me of a story concerning a former co-worker, Mary.

Mary was one of those very sweet, smiley, 9 to 5, same-hairstyle-since-high-school, no-frills shopper kinda gals. Jeans and polo shirts, sneakers. Nothing "ahtsy fahtsy" about Mary. (Note: "artsy fartsy" is a term this clan of co-workers used to describe me, for example. Maybe it means "no perm" in Billerica-speak.)

As traditional as Mary was, she had a seriously wack sense of humour and was addicted to the high certain people get off performing practical jokes. I wish I had the balls to do the kind of stuff Mary did -- only I don't think I'd be able to get away with it. She did stuff to her co-worker friends like...OK, well this one time, she made a hundred photocopies of a REALLY bad picture of someone, and she posted them all over the building. A few times she listed friends' cars or houses for sale in the local paper. I'm awestruck by that. I'm imagining the reality of phoning some ad department at the paper and giving the details without blowing it. And paying for the ad! That's some dedication, boy.

So one Christmas, I got to put one of my low budget superpowers to good use to help out Mary. My power of being a total fucking nerd.

Mary's husband had brought home, much to her dismay, an entire collection of Star Trek Next Generation Christmas tree ornaments. I would have friggin' loved that, but not everyone wants a fucking Klingon dangling from her Christmas tree.

Mary was not a Trekkie.

Mary's idea of a nice tree was more along the lines of Laura Ashley or at least the Hallmark store. You know. Santa and snowmen and shit like that.

"I don't mind the little people ones so much," she told us at work one day, her button nose scrunched in that way she had when she was puzzling out a thought. "I mean, it's OK he brought home the guy with the curly haired girlfriend...he's kind of holding a little remote control thingy..."

"Commander Riker," I offered. "He's second in command. Number Two. He's holding a phaser?"

"Yeah, and there's the really white guy, the robot--"

"Android."

"Android. Well I knew he was electronic!"

"Actually he's positronic. Commander Data has a positronic brain." Yes, I have no friends at work, you were wondering why?

Anyway, we established that Mary was resigned to letting her husband put the Star Trek characters on the tree, but the real problem was the ships. She positively hated the space ships.

"There's one that's SO..." more scrunching of her little freckled nose while she sought the right word. "Ugly," she decided. "It's SO UGLY! It's not the regular ship where all the good guys live..."

"Not the Enterprise?"

"No, it's all angles...bird...something?"

"That's the Bird of Prey, that's a Romulan ship." I don't add that the Bird of Prey was a Romulan ship with certain awesome, but murderous, technology, but later the Klingons obtained that technology in an alliance with the Romulans. I also refrain from describing for the others, who are taking Mary's word for it, that the Bird of Prey is shaped like a saucer with parallel warp nacelles mounted port and starboard of the hull. Sometimes there's just too much information.

"YEAH! BIRD OF PREY, THAT'S what Rob said it was! OH my god, it looks like some kind of bug. I hate it! How am I gonna convince him to stick it way in BACK of the tree. I hate it!"

Here is where I was able to help. "Tell you what," I said conspiratorially. "Take it off the tree. Hide it. If he notices and asks where it is? Just look at him in shock, gasp and yell 'SHE'S CLOAKED!'"

Okay, for anybody not laughing right now: The Romulan cloaking technology means the Bird of Prey can effectively disappear. Mary didn't know that either, and when she found out she squealed in utter delight and, as soon as possible, activated that plan.

That has nothing to do with the fact that Mary and Rob later got divorced. I swear.

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By the way, I have to say, I am such a badass. I have this deep cut on my thumb -- oh, don't worry, it's clean-edged and it's not bleeding or infected or anything -- but it just won't stay closed. It won't heal if it doesn't stay closed, dammit. Band-aids were not working.

I just Crazy-Glued the fucker closed. That worked AWESOME.

I deserve some Badass Music for the soundtrack to this moment. As I hold up my repaired thumb in victory, I want, say, that "wah WAH wah" from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly playing softly in the background.