Traffic Accident - 11/21/2011

I hadn't written anything in some time. I lacked the motivation and inspiration. A few of us formed a writing group that will meet weekly and will write from a prompt. That gives me a subject and a deadline, both of which I seem to need. Our first prompt is "Traffic Accident." The following is what that prompt brought to my mind:

Terry was on his way home from his security job on the set of CSI Sea of Tranquility in medium rush hour traffic. He was listening to some classic rock on his new ICrap device. Just as he was starting to relax to a 50 year old Coldplay song, he was disturbed by the nosecone of another vehicle entering his passenger window at a moderate rate of speed. When he had recovered from the shock of the unexpected docking, he assessed the situation:

"Oh crap", he said out loud to himself, then silently thought "Just my luck. A taxi. No doubt driven by an alien with no insurance, and no English.".

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He screamed rhetorically at the driver. "Where did you get your license, "SkyMart?"

As other unconcerned traffic zoomed past, he realized that his initial assessment was correct. It was indeed an alien hack driver. This was going to suck on so many levels.

"I am very, very sorry, it seems my automatic pirate has malfunctioned,." The cabbie spoke through the damage.

"I think you mean pilot."

"Yes, pilot, my English is not so good."

"Neither is your driving, Roswell." He immediately regretted using the racial slur that Earthlings had attached to any extraterrestrial, regardless of planet of origin. It was every bit as derogatory as back when there were white people and they called blacks, niggers and chinese, chinks. Terry was part white on his mother's side, but the white had pretty much been bred out. Terry was roughly the color of a russet potato. He did, however, have enough white DNA that he qualified for minority benefits.

The Venusian driver began to tremble uncontrollably and turned a darker shade of gray-green than his normal hue. "There is no need to get racy. I said I was sorry.

"Racial. I was being racial. Not racy."

"Yes, you were."

Terry segued, "what the hell were you doing at this altitude? You know you aren't supposed to go above 15,000 feet in those shitwagons."

"Again with the obligatory remarks," the Venusian replied.
"I think you mean derogatory."

"You really are hurtful. I know that you Earthlings call us taxi drivers, Venetian Blinds. I have excellent vision. In fact I can see Uranus." What passed for a mouth emitted a high-pitched shriek that Terry took for a laugh.

"That was pretty funny, ET. Now what are you going to do about the damage to my vehicle?" Terry pressed.

"I have excellent insulation from Geico," the driver said proudly.

"I hope you mean insurance. "Why am I not surprised", to himself. "You look just like that lizard."

"You forget that we Venusians are telegraphic. And he is a gekko, not a lizard."

"It's telepathic, Yoda. Can you just not talk to me until the police arrive?"
"Certainly, I will be very solvent."

"Oh, for Christ's sake", Terry put his head in his hands.

He decided he would amuse himself while he waited for the police.

"What is your name?" Terry asked.

He knew that the authorities assigned names to all arriving aliens as they processed through immigration, as their given names are unintelligible and sometimes just a growl or fart sound. He also knew that the INS folks had a sense of humor.

"I am Jeffrey Dahmer," the driver said proudly.

"Of course you are," Terry chuckled.

Just then, a police cruiser arrived. The officer rolled down his window identified himself as patrolman Keith Richards, and asked, "Have you had an accent?."

Terry put his phaser on stun and shot himself in the face.