Dinner Party

I looked down at my phone to see that James had texted me, “Soooo 7 o'clock is good?”

I replied, “Yeah, that's great!”

​To which he said, “Awesome, I'll round up the troops and bring a bottle!”

…​

It was most definitely NOT great! Oh my gosh, are they on to me? Is that why they suggested a “dinner party?” What on this earth even IS a dinner party? Throwing a party for dinner? I think not. Why celebrate such a taxing chore as EATING? He said he’ll bring a bottle. Am I supposed to bring a baby?

I can't stand eating.

Humans spend a lot of time on food. They eat a few meals a day on a routine schedule, carry snacks, and spend all the time either planning to cook food, cooking food, eating food, or thinking about how they should or shouldn’t eat food.​

Where I'm from, you don't have the feeling of hunger or the need for food. On some planets, you pop a substance you guys would call “a pill”, and it would do its job. In some bodies, you photosynthesize, for instance. But here. Here on this earth, you have to throw chunks of colored mush, or solid, or frozen, or whatever form humans choose to mutilate their nutrients into down your esophagus. Then the job isn't complete yet … you also have to move your mastsetters up and down, and sometimes side to side, and ensure you grind it down enough with these sharp white things in your pink gums (not the chewing bubble gum type). All while breathing, which of course is autonomic by now, but still all so laborious.

In addition, you have to learn all these little rules about eating. For example, I’ve learned not to chew and talk at the same time; people will think you're an animal if you do this. I've quickly learned that eating is quite separate from drinking, in the sense that you're first meant to chew the food, swallow the food, and then take a swig of a liquid. I learned this early after arriving on Earth. Humans watched me with unease as I placed meat in my mouth and followed it with water, swallowing it whole like a capsule. They found it unsettling. I found it efficient.

All of that being said, I haven't even gotten to the worst part of it all; You have to cook it first. This is something I have never done. Even though I have already taken part in an extensive list of societal norms that I’ve observed prior to my coming here. Activities like ordering on Amazon, driving a car, and even shampooing the small colored follicles that grow from my head. I’ve also learned a great deal about humans from a sociological perspective. For example, they dislike change, but also dislike the mundane, and are always seeking something or consuming. Things I haven't completely understood about the quirks of humans are the English words that can be used interchangeably in multiple contexts, procreation, and food, obviously.

I’m not sure I'm equipped for this.

NOW, I've got to host these people and pretend to enjoy cooking them a meal because of one conversation we had weeks ago when we had just met. We spoke about how I “cooked” all of my life. The entire evening, we even had “inside” jokes about it. It wasn’t until he made a joke about cracking an egg that I realized we weren't talking about the same thing.

​

For a moment, I considered getting carryout food, but the system seemed quite complex. I have to call… order… then carry out my food? Though I've heard this was the easier way to feed yourself. Also, I figured it would be best if I tried cooking a meal to prove my human-ness to the new Earth friends.

​ Today is Thursday, and the party for dinner is Saturday. I decided I would dig into whatever recipe book I could find. I also watched some short videos on grocery stores to prepare myself for this experience. I've learned to stick to the perimeter of the grocery store as that's where they house the “alive” food… and I guess the middle aisles are all of the dead food? I didn't do much digging here as I opted for the live food. I mean, I'm not trying to kill my guests.

I also watched some videos on dinner parties, cooking, dietary restrictions, and how to make meals exciting for kids. Apparently, some of them have the same troubles I do: “Eating is a chore, and what the heck is broccoli doing in my mouth?”

​…

​I've found myself at the grocery store a bit early, as I am worried it will take me longer here than it will to cook the food. I entered what they called Kroger, odd but okay… I walked right through the doors and had to maneuver out of the way of a few people grabbing these metallic cages on wheels. My curiosity almost sidetracked me, but I looked ahead and was delighted to see the edible plants staring right back at me; that must be the alive food! Maybe this wasn't going to be so difficult after all.

​ I find most produce is green, and I found the one I’m looking for. Broccoli, they call it here –it resembles a little green tree, a man-made vegetable, funnily enough. What's next, 3-D printing meat from animal cells? I found the brightly colored balls called lemons, and the purple brain-shaped oval called cabbage. After a while of searching, I finally found the spaghetti squash, this was challenging as I expected it to look like pasta. I grabbed a couple other things from the dead aisles.

​ I held all of these in my hands until one thing dropped, and all of the rest went tumbling.

A nearby human looked at me with a mix of pity and annoyance. He scoffed and pointed to his metal cage and said, “You know this is why they invented carts, right?”

​ So I reassembled my ingredients in my arms and returned to the entrance to acquaint myself with the metallic cage on wheels, which I now know is called a cart. That wasn’t a part of the informational video.

The grocery store is a peculiar place, I tell you. The lighting is offensively bright, the environment is ill-tempered, and it makes my human flesh suit feel cold. I noticed it dropped 260.928 degrees Kelvin the second I entered. People also aren't smiling like they do in other settings.​

Why am I exchanging this green paper money for this green food when all of these things are naturally found on earth? Shouldn’t I just be able to walk outside and grab them from a plant or a tree? Where are they hiding them? Anyways, I digress.

One more thing, why do the wrinkly people get to use the motorcycle carts? I want one.

​ Time to find the protein. The package in which it comes was quite jarring. Maybe I'm not so in agreement with the kids here after all, I'd rather eat the green stuff that's alive. Kinda odd this stuff isn't in the middle of the store, I mean, it's literally a dead animal. I went with parts of an animal called a chicken, but after it was born and matured, I guess you can get it in egg form, too. Both are quite popular here.

After I’ve gathered my items in this super handy “shopping cart” ;) I found what was called the checkout line. I stood in the most popular one with the most people, as I figured this was the safest bet. I waited and waited until it was my turn next. I watched the people in front of me take every item they’ve recently placed in their cart, out of their cart, and place it onto the conveyor belt. These items are headed to a person who would swipe the item over clear glass with a flashing red light that beeps when activated. I realized I’ve been hearing this entire time, but wasn’t able to place it

Oh man, it’s my turn. Here we go, just like the lady did in front of me. I put everything on the belt, dead and alive.

“Paper or plastic?” Said the swiper

I replied, “No, thank you. There’s already enough of that in the food here.”

As he works on my order, I can’t help but think about how each ingredient is like a puzzle piece that I begrudgingly have to fit together. I’ll have to make sure it’s tasty enough to fool them. Next, I’ll have to study processes like steaming the meat and grilling the vegetables. Also, don’t get me started on the science of seasonings and the human taste buds.

​After every item got its beep, I watched as the bags were placed back in my cart. The man who swiped all my items said, “The total is $81.77”. I handed him my $100 bill and began walking out with my metallic cage, oh, I mean cart. He yelled after me, “Sir.. the change!” to which I called out, like any other human probably would. “I hate change! Keep it!”