Jason the Physicist knew it was going to be an interesting evening when the alien walked into his bar. Jason had dealt with his share of odd an interesting events (like the time he helped the folks at CERN save the world from a tiny black hole they’d accidentally created, or that wacky time-travel incident back in college), but he had never actually seen an extra-terrestrial. The alien slapped a tentacle on the bar.
“Whiskey”, it said, sounding very much like Stephen Hawking. Jason peered around for the source of the word, and finally settled on a small black box on the creature’s belt. The box looked like it had been put together from parts obtained at Radio Shack. In fact, upon closer examination, Jason saw the tellate cirle R logo in raised platic on the front of the box, next to a small speaker whose wires disappared into the innards of the box.
Jason looked at the alien closely, trying to decide which appendage he should address as the alien’s face, and settled on a likley lump of green tissue that had a small fissure that might be the creature’s mouth.
“Well or call?” Jason asked, completly serious.
“Canadian Club,” the alien replied, “and you can call me, for lack of a better word, Max”. The words came out of the small voice box with a methodical, almost dream-like slowness.
Jason nodded and fetched Max’s drink. When he returned, Max wrapped one of its smaller tentacles around the glass and raised it to the fissure, which opened to reveal row after row of fearsome teeth. The alien dumped the contents of the glass down this ghastly gullet.
“So, what brings you to town?” Jason asked, and immediatly realized that the alien must get that line all the time.
“Actually, my band needs a bass player, and I was hoping you’d be interested.” Max replied, as if such requests were the most normal thing on Earth (or any other planet). In addition to owning the bar, Jason was also a fearsome bass player, although it had been years since he’d played in a band — running the bar took too much of his time.
Jason thought carefully, and then replied “What instrument do you play in the band?”
“I’m the singer.” the alien replied. Jason could swear the ends of the creatures “mouth” turned up in a grin.
Jason blinked, and thought for another moment and asked “Of all of the bass players on Earth, why me?”
“There aren’t many physicists on the planet who can rock like you do, we’re all big fans” the alien replied. The Hawking-like tones produced by the black box added a serious tone to the creatures utterings, “and we are also in need of your abilities as one of the foremost physicists on the planet. We have a particular problem that we need help solving”.
Jason thought of the last time he had to use his abilities as a physicist, when the Earth was on the verge of getting sucked into itself, and what a pain in the ass that whole adventure turned out to be. He thought for a long moment and finally replied.
“I don’t believe in aliens, and it’s closing time.” he said.
Max looked stunned (or at least Jason imagined that he did), and after a time, turned and made his way out of Jason’s bar.
Jason locked up for the night and began turning chairs on top of tables.