Greetings, Earthlings.
We come in peace, and have traveled many millions of miles to this large and flat gathering place that, according to our research, is called a parking lot.
All around are the simplistic vehicles you humans know as “cars” or “trucks,” as well as a “hybrid” that relies on a combination of fossil fuels and electricity to function.
Not to brag, but we’ve been using those for 2,000 years and the mileage is nowhere as good as the manufacturers have been letting on.
That is why we have come to deliver an important message that, if heeded, will ensure the earth’s survival and save humankind from a catastrophic end: turn in your cars and use public transportation.
But seriously, when we first arrived on Planet Parking Lot, we found your habits highly boring as you appear perfectly content to situate your cars between the white lines that were apparently painted by some superior deciding power.
(Note to self: They are a highly regimented race and would be easy to enslave.)
After several hours of watching you park your cars in this way, we became seriously zoned out and considered zapping you with our environmentally friendly death ray just to liven things up a bit.
That is, until we encountered The Wanderers.
They are a highly intriguing sub-species characterized by a collective inability to locate their vehicles after spending time in shopping malls and big-box stores.
We watched with a mixture of hilarity and wonderment as the Wanderers exited these places of business with looks of puzzlement on their pasty faces, their eyes scanning the horizon for evidence of the vehicles they themselves had parked only a short time before.
Some possessed key chains that appeared capable of activating the vehicle’s horn from a distance, which they did repeatedly in an attempt to follow the highly annoying sound.
Never have we laughed so mightily.
Our overlords were surprised by this news and ordered us to investigate further, believing it impossible that any being could be so obtuse.
We returned for a second look last Friday morning, which proved to be a surprisingly busy time at the mall given that most humans claim to be working at those hours.
Anyhoo, we soon found ourselves greatly amused once again as the Wanderers exited the mall over several enjoyable hours.
One of them appeared to be a gatherer of information and images, as was evident by the notepad and photographic device that accompanied him wherever he went.
(Does somebody pay him for this work?)
He entered the parking lot shortly before the time of day you refer to as noon, situating his car between two of the painted lines at the northeast quadrant of the site.
After heading inside the mall – presumably to document an event humans have come to call a ribbon-cutting ceremony – he returned outside wearing the dazed expression that is unique to the Wanderers.
We were forced to cover our sound holes with our tentacles, so hard were we laughing at the sight of the Wanderer drifting from aisle to aisle in search of his personal transportation.
My partner Glaxon, a notoriously moody fellow, was about to employ the death ray when the human located his so-called “station wagon, which, according to our research, had recently undergone extensive repairs.
Additional research determined the man’s wife would have us hanging by our tentacles if we so much as scratched the vehicle with our death ray.
To that we say, hail the all-powerful Woman of the Station Wagon.
And please have mercy on our tentacles.
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