Three: Area 51
Two Weeks Later (Phile World Time)
Groom Lake Road
Near (15 mi.) Air Force Flight Test Center, Detachment 3
11:17 p.m.
The stars and desert almost looked like an olden painting… Did you know that looking at boring stuff makes you sleepier?
My friends and I were vacationing in Reno, when we met up with some Philes (devoted following of the television show The X-Files) mid-way into the trip. They explained that they had four extra tickets to an "Unofficial Tour of Area 51". Of course, I was the first to accept and my three friends followed my lead… they were forced to follow my lead anyway.We visited the usual spots, Tikaboo Peak, the claimed best view to Area 51 (or Air Force Flight Test Center, Detachment 3) and then continued to Reville Peak. We had decided to camp out near the Black Mail Box for a while… but it turned out to be crowded beyond reason. Those freaks.
For the most part, my trip to Area 51 was a trip around Area 51, and while I had taken an assortment of pictures of cactuses, desert, and a man peeing on a cactus in the desert, the trip had been mildly satisfactory: like the show's series finale, but I don't want to get into politics at the moment.
I had eaten a chilidog, which as a result had me stricken with troubles of a certain digestive organ and turned me to the "out-of-order" bus bathroom. I had never liked going on moving vehicles anyway. So, when we finally arrived at the Black Mailbox, I was very much tempted to walk up to the Medlin Ranch and ask, "to go potty" there. Fortunately for them and myself, I found a portable potty nearby.
I wrote a memo to myself… actually, I had my friend write it on my forehead. It said: "NO HARMFUL FOODS TO ENTER AT THE RISK OF…" and then I ran out of forehead. Thus, I walked around with that warning on my face for the rest of the day. We all thought it was so funny at first, and then it got old, really old. I mean, what's the sense in letting everyone know that you're at the brink of suffering irritable bowel syndrome?
Too much information? I must let you know only the government has problems with too much information.
Once I got over that, I was left mainly angry that my whole trip was filled with restrictions and conditions. I understood it was a private military base, but what's the harm in "lOOking" at it? Maybe the government WAS hiding something from the American People. (As Mulder would so unwaveringly put it)My trip was drawing to a close. The last thing left on our tour was a nice short drive down Groom Lake Road. The guide explained to us that we'd eventually be stopped by Cammos (security for the base) and then turned around. The guide said that we'd go as far was we possibly could, but we shouldn't push anybody's buttons. The last thing anyone wanted to do was push the buttons of a bunch of dudes who walked around armed and in camouflage all day. Now that's a job I'd like to pass by… although, walking around in camouflage all day can have its perks, I'm sure.
I sat in my little velvety Greyhound seat. Leaning my head up against the cold window and feeling the bus's movements against my head.
I clutched my little ET doll and decided to use it as a pillow. I put my head up against the stuffed toy, when without warning the bus jerked backwards, making me hit my head on the window. And it HURT BAD!
"Dammit!" I cried. I rubbed my head as I looked out the window to see what was going on. The Cammos must've stopped us. But, I saw no one.
I looked over at the other passengers who seemed to have been in the same state of puzzlement as I was in. I then looked back outside. The desert was calm. I could hear the chirping of the crickets even. Miserably, I sunk down in my seat and waited for something to happen. Then, drank from my bottled water, which was now warmer. (I hate warm water!)
"What's going on?" I asked my friend. She shook her head in response. I stood up from my seat, and asked again, "Hey, what's happening?"
The driver an elderly man looked straight ahead. The guide did the same. Unless we were all playing a really psychedelic game of statue… this was weird. Psycho killer weird."Okaaay…" I sat back down even more distressed. I looked at my alien doll, which I had fondly named Mulder and then looked back at the driver.
(I name everything Mulder. Sometimes Scully… for female things. Not those kind of female things- I mean female stuffed animals and other things that are supposed to be girls I owned. Oh! And I had named my cousin's beach blonde Barbie "Marita" after Mulder's third government informant Marita Covurrubias. I don't usually go naming people's things; however, Beach Fun Barbie needed a new, more Special Representative of the Secretary General type of name. If only my four-year-old cousin could pronounce "Co-voor-rooo-bee-us".)
"Well, how was your day, Mulder?" I pleasantly (and sarcastically) asked the doll.
The alien with its big gray head and black eyes remained still.
"That's what I thought." I answered back. I looked back at the driver-
And guess what?
HE WAS AN ALIEN! He wore this driver's suit, but he looked exactly like a gray alien! I immediately started to freak out. "This is not happening…" I whispered to myself. I closed my eyes shut and then moments later I reopened them. (I do that a lot when I'm uneasy)
He was back to normal again.
That made it official. I was a schizophrenic. Or a hallucinogenic… or any other funny farm name Agent Scully would call a person like me. Maybe that meant I was some brilliant genius… all the brilliant geniuses saw things… YES! They were visionaries! Of course!
Who was I kidding? I was scared and bored. Moreover, being scared and bored at the same time made people see things… unusual things.
The bus stayed there in that location for a long while. Nobody would speak and I wouldn't dare to either. I then closed my eyes again… and eventually fell… asleep…