Snarky Saves the World – The Finale

Long time no see Snarky readers.  Sorry for the delay, but my summer has been demanding, which is a good thing because oh the stories I have to tell.  Let’s get the Snarky & Aliens thing done and then move on to other topics like my in-depth investigative report on volunteering (It’s riveting journalism, I promise.) and a little something about me and my brother. Can you believe someone saw us together at the pool and thought I was cheating on my husband with my brother? Ick.  Well, of course, no one knew he was my brother, but well, it’s a good story and involves sunblock so just wait this and more are coming soon.  Now, on to those aliens. Just in case you’ve forgotten the story line I was being amazing and . . . What, not enough information for you?  Then go back and re-read Parts 1, 2, & 3.

I  stood in the middle of the field with my hands shaking surveying the damage from my up close and personal alien experience.  The pods I had shot at were gone, but they had left behind some jelly looking stuff that was clinging to the grass.  The pod I had sprayed with Febreze was still knocked out or dead – who can tell,  it’s a damn alien.  The kids and ABC had circled around the thing that looked like an XL Tide detergent packet and were looking at me for some kind of guidance.  The only thing that came to mind besides cry and run while peeing my pants was my C.S.I. training and by that, I mean, of course, the 381 episodes I had watched of the TV show C.S.I. over the years.  (That number is based solely on C.S.I. viewings not C.S.I. Miami (totally bummed that got the axe) and C.S.I. New York (really wished it had gotten the axe  instead of C.S.I. Miami).  That number also doesn’t take into account the hours spent watching N.C.I.S. with the always exquisite Mark Harmon.)

So, I put on my C.S.I. game face and said, “We need to somehow get this pod back to the school.”

Because any crime scene investigator knows you need to bring the body or slimy pod back to the lab/morgue.  This prompted my son to get very excited and say, “Yeeees! An alien autopsy.  How cool.”

ABC started shaking and whined, “Alien autopsy?  Are you serious? “

“Yeah, I’m serious. We’ve got a dermatologist and a veterinarian back at the school between the two of them they should be able to tell us what we’re dealing with.”

“This is so gross,” ABC said still whining.  “How are we going to get it to the school?  There is not enough Franzia in the world to make me touch that thing.”

Before I could even come up with a reply.  The three teenagers – Will, Hyatt and Grace had dumped the stuff out of the large lawn cart/wheelbarrow I had brought from home and were using sticks to roll the alien into a blanket they had spread out.  They then picked up the blanket and dropped the alien into the lawn cart.  I looked at ABC and said, “I guess that’s how.”

I gathered up my weapons shoving the “Queen of the Rodeo” back in the folding chair bag and zipping Little Miss Texas into my fanny pack.  Our only source of protection on the trek back to the school was my travel size can of Gain Febreze.  I also took a small bottle of Bath and Body Works peach scented hand gel out of my fanny pack and gave it to my son. I told him to squirt it if we were ambushed by any extra terrestrial life forms.  I figured if Febreze brought down an alien peachy scented hand gel might also do the trick.  With all weapons and children accounted for we began our run/jog to the school.  Will, Hyatt and Grace were out in front armed with the hand gel.  I was in the middle of the pack pushing the lawn cart and holding my daughter’s hand.  ABC kept falling behind which made me so nervous I had Grace and Will hold her hands to keep her in my visual range.  Will told her she might run faster if she quit sucking on the straw inserted into the bag of Franzia.  “The reason you can’t keep up with us,” he said, “Is because you’re using all your energy to drink.”

I guess that shamed her a bit, because ABC let go of her death suck on the Franzia and really started to run.  I was impressed, that girl was fast.

Back at the School

We arrived back at the school and still in my C.S.I. mode I call a meeting of all the adults in a corner of the cafeteria.  I had already cautioned my children and Grace and Hyatt to say NOTHING about aliens to the other kids.  When I recounted our near death experience to the adults I was faced with some skepticism.  I was pissed! There I am standing in the middle of a circle relaying ABC’s and I up close and very personal experience with lethal, 3 foot tall, aliens that resemble Tide detergent pods and I’m getting at the very least some raised eyebrows and at the very worst I was called a liar by that ass hat Charity.

“Hmm,” she said while filing her nails, (And about that – who gives themselves a manicure in the midst of alien take over of planet Earth? Does she think having well-groomed nails and neatly trimmed cuticles will be the one thing that saves her from an alien abduction?)  “I’m having a big problem believing this s-t-o-r-y.  Seriously, aliens?  How much Franzia did you two have.”

Then something unexpected happened, that really made me suck in my stomach and wish I had thought to grab a hair brush from my bathroom when I was home.  The sexiest school janitor ever, Mr. Miller, comes to my defense.  He has a western/southern drawl thing going on that makes you want to, at the very least, run your fingers through his hair, and says, “Back off Blondie (to Charity), I believe everything this woman has said.  Any lady who knows how to handle a Remington 870 Wingmaster is no liar.  BTdubs, Go job on the recon.  I’ve got your back the next time you leave the school.”

I believe he just made me blush.  That was the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me and best of all it made Charity shut up, sort of.  Her and Jacardi were still rolling their eyes. So, I said, “I need all of you to step into the hall for just a minute.”

Once I had everybody’s attention I directed them to look inside my wheelbarrow that I had brought inside the school and said, “For your viewing pleasure – an alien.”

Shrieks, screams, a lot of Holy F&%k’s and tons of prayers later everybody over the age of 21 had gotten their fill of seeing an alien. You’ll be pleased to know that Charity vomited.  Jacardi fainted and Elizabeth had a severe bout of explosive diarrhea that resulted in her being forced to wear girls size 16 gym shorts.  After all that drama I said, “Now, that I’ve gotten everybody’s attention I’d like to suggest a plan.  Dr. Chaing can you take your dermatologist expertise and combine it with Dr. Debby’s veterinarian knowledge and see what we’re dealing with here.  I’m especially interested in their noses or whatever they use to smell, because bullets didn’t bring them down – Febreze did.  I’m thinking maybe their allergic to highly perfumed smell goods. ”

Both doctors agree to see what they can find out and with the sexy janitor’s help wheel the alien into the nurses office.  I figure we can’t really formulate any kind of plan until the autopsy is done so I leave the doctors alone to find my son.  I’ve got a question for him that’s been bugging me.  I walk back into the cafeteria where everybody is eating ice cream sandwiches from the school’s freezer before they melt into goo. I take his arm and gently pull him into a corner.  “I’m curious,” I say, “How come you never seemed to be scared out there today?  In fact, none of you were scared.  You, Hyatt and Grace all acted like you stumble onto aliens everyday.  Is it all the video games you play?”

“No, mom,” he says, while shoving the rest of the ice cream sandwich in his mouth, “We’ve just been brought up expecting some kind of certain doom.”

“What does that mean?”  I asked, “Your dad and I have not raised you to think that one day a swarm of aliens will appear and try to purge the human race.”

“No, Mom,” he sighed, “What I mean is that we’ve grown up with 9/11, a couple of wars, global warming, getting felt up at the airport, school shootings, well, really shootings everywhere and my generation, I guess, just expects the unexpected.  We’re not, “Why me?” we’re like “Oh yeah, of course it’s going to me.  I’m the one that’s going to be offed today?”

I stared at him and then gave him a big hug.  What he said was the scariest thing that had happened to me today.  Not the aliens, not seeing an alien spaceship thing that looked like a Dyson vacuum, not firing two guns at aliens and then running for my life, but hearing my son tell me that his generation is growing up with a not if, but when mentality when it comes to bad things happening.  Horrific events have become their status quo. I didn’t have time to think about what all that meant because in mid hug with my son, The sexy janitor walked over to me and said, “I think you need to see something.”

I followed him back to the nurses office and it looked like tubs of purple and orange jello had exploded.  Dr. Chaing, The Tri-State Restalyne Queen was looking queasy and was standing as far away from the jello explosion as possible.  Dr. Debby was elbow deep in alien. She was wearing industrial size rubber gloves courtesy of the janitor’s closet, goggles from the science lab and a black trash-bag over her clothes.  The veterinarian had carved and yanked the alien pod apart.  I was doing my best not to gag and forced myself to go to my happy place, which is usually Target, but with the whole alien thing, it had fallen way down on my list of Happy Places so I went to my H.P. runner-up –  cupcakes frosted with butter-cream.  Thank goodness the janitor was standing next to me.  If I had to faint I could fall into this big, tan, biceps enriched arms.  The doctors explained that the alien specimen had massive olfactory receptor neurons and that their gel pods were probably olfactory mucus that contained an abundance of sensory nerve fibers.

“Okay,” I said, “So, are you two telling me that our alien was just one big freaking nose.”

Dr. Chaing, answered, “Well, yes and no.  It had a brain, but mainly it was all nose.”

Dr. Debby got all excited and while holding a ruler starts gesturing wildly, “I’m guessing it’s sense of smell is unlike anything we have here on earth.  Bears have the best sense of smell of any animal.  It’s more then 2,000 times better than a human.  This thing, whatever it is based on the size of this olfactory nerve here (she jabs at it with the ruler) is probably a couple of million times better than a bear.”

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in my astounded brain, “That’s why the Febreze killed it!  It’s big old nose couldn’t handle the scent.  Oh, my God!  Oh, my God! Do you know what’s this means?  We’ve found a way to run off the aliens!  All we need to do is make the world’s largest scent bomb and drop it on the Target.”

And then my joy was partially diluted when I realized that we may have Charity to thank for still being alive.  Her freaking Scents for School collection must have acted like a shield protecting all us from the aliens.  I mean it’s not like I’m not thrilled that we weren’t abducted, but yikes having Charity to thank for my life and my children’s.  That’s a bitter pill to swallow.  I tamp the thought of being indebted for life to Charity way, way, back in my brain and focused on building a scent bomb.  I knew Charity had an enormous Kate Spade “Eat Cake for Breakfast” tote full of scents, (So ridiculous, a woman who looks like she eats her finger for breakfast carrying a bag that has in bold 36 point font that words “Eat Cake for Breakfast.  Seriously obnoxious.  I, of course, could carry that bag and everyone would say, “Yes, you do look like you enjoy cakes and a 12 pack of glazed donuts every morning’) but I didn’t think that would be enough to vanquish the Dyson.  Then, I got an idea.  If the Scents for School created a shield that protected us then there must be outposts all over the town where people survived the attack like the Yankee Candle store and the Bath and Body Works shop at the Town and Country Esplanade.  I haven’t been in a Yankee Candle store yet that didn’t give me a headache and I don’t have olfactory glands the size of a Frisbee.  We need to go to those stores, liberate the smell good folk, load up on scent ammo, especially the nauseatingly potent Bath and Body Works Signature collection Twilight Woods and get to work making that bomb. Time for another meeting.  I needed volunteers.

Yes, I know it’s not done.  I’ve got about two more pages to write which I’m doing right now.  Meanwhile, many thanks for all of you who “liked” me on Facebook!  May the Snark Be With You.  For those that haven’t done the deed yet to stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.