The Alien Club

It had been a long day and I was tired. I flicked through the papers, stared off into space, and absent-mindedly began to read the adverts.

And that’s when I saw it - on the back page - staring out at me in three-inch high letters.

‘The Alien Club,’ it screamed. ‘Join now, and get these four top-selling aliens for FREE!’

Well, naturally I couldn’t believe it, but I wasn’t that interested - then. All I wanted to do was dream.

‘Supposing I was to join?’ I thought. ‘Which ones would I have ? ‘ - and since I was so utterly bored I found a pencil and began to make circles. That took me half an hour. By the time I’d finished there were still ten, and so I sat back and tried to whittle those ten down to four. Well, I was only playing.

And then I read through the ad. again. There was no small print - literally. I checked it, rechecked it, and then I checked it once more. “Special offer!” it read. “Four Aliens - free !” They even spelt it out. “There are no hidden catches,” it read. “If you decide to take no aliens you are under no further obligation. Simply fill in the monthly form stating that you don’t wish to have this month’s recommendation and then post it back to us. All we ask is that you consider our Selector’s choice for a minimum six months!”

Well, that seemed simple enough. I could do that. Keep them happy for six months and then get to keep four top class aliens. Hell, it had to be worth a few minutes of my time .

There was a good selection to choose from. I’d always fancied an intellectual Alien. And I wanted a light and humorous one that would keep me entertained. There would be another for stroking, of course, and a Joker that I knew nothing about. Heck, why not. Excellent value for money !

Of course I’d heard all the stories. I knew there was always a catch, but I felt I was bright, I was up to it, I could handle whatever they threw at me. I’d read it, hadn’t I ? “No catches,” it said, and that was good enough to stand up in a court of law.

So I posted it, right ? And then I forgot about it for a month.

So it was a pleasant surprise to get a note from the Delivery Office telling me that a parcel had arrived. I guessed it was the Aliens, but I wasn’t sure. It was the kid’s birthday, and all sorts of things were now turning up.

As soon as I saw it I knew it was for me, not the child. Just the look of it was enough. A massive great box.

The Aliens.

I snuck back home, tore off the wrapping, and stared in admiration. These were quality, I thought to myself. You could tell just by looking.

I lifted out the stroky one first, placed it on the floor. It sat there doing nothing, looking sensual, and I reached out and touched it. Gorgeous. This one was going to be my little secret, the one I kept hidden away. The wife wasn’t going to know about THAT.

I must have spent a good twenty minutes staring at it in admiration before I dragged msyelf away and had a look at the others. The intellectual one was standing looking at me quizzically, so I put it on the coffee table and made it sing. I asked it a few questions, and it replied politely. Very impressive. They’d done a good job, beautifully turned out. The wonders of modern-day technology; mass-breeding meant anyone could now afford an alien.

Then it was the Joker, the one that might (or might not) be any good. At first sight I was impressed, but when I started prodding it I realised I’d been sold a pup. Sold ? Given, then. It kep me amused for a few moments, but once the novelty had worn off I knew it would have no place in my home. Shame to waste anything, but it was heading for the Disposer.

And that left the light one, the Alien I could spend a few carefree moments with every now and then. I went and made myself a sandwich, sat down in front of it and put it through its paces.

It could dance, obviously, tell a few jokes, and it had a decent stock of stories. I spent another twenty minutes with it, skipped through most of the material it had to offer and then walked away. Life was too busy, and I knew from past experience that I’d leave it around on a side table for a week or so before it was relegated to some dark corner, never to be seen again.

But all things considered I was pleased - very pleased. I liked Aliens, liked to have them stacked up neatly on shelves or left lying around chattering to themselves, I liked to put one through its paces every now and again. And I liked new Aliens. I liked their clean, fresh smell and the promise they held of future delight.

As simple as that.

Surprisingly, after a few days I more or less forgot about them all. I’d walk past a shelf, think, ‘Gotta check that one out,’ and then do nothing. Life was too frantic, the child was keeping me busy, and when I had time to relax I wanted to be mindless. Aliens required interaction, and I was too tired for anything but passive entertainment.

Anyhow, once a month a letter would come from the Alien club, and I would open it, fill in the bit that said, ‘No’ and ditch the accompanying junk. Toddle off to the Delivery Unit, send it away, and that was that. Hey Presto ! Easy.

Not that I didn’t worry about it a little, of course. I was naturally lazy and had forgotten to note down the date my Aliens had arrived, so I couldn’t for the life of me remember how many months I had left. And the Alien Club were clever. If I didn’t return the letter within six days it was automatically assumed I wanted the Selector’s Choice. Which meant that in the back of my brain I was always in a permanent state of addled recollection.

And then one day of course, it happened. I had a vague feeling the form was overdue. I was pretty sure I was near the end of my six month ‘trial’, and pleased as anything to have got away with it. I should have tried this years ago, I thought.

Well, surprise surprise. The Alien Club didn’t give up that easy. I’d just returned from taking the child to school and was sitting down planning the rest of my day when there was a loud thud outside the door. I wasn’t sure if my ears had deceived me, so I went to have a look. Just as I put the key in the lock there was a loud screaming of turbo-boosters and the sound of a Jetship shooting away. And there, lo and behold, was another Alien parcel outside the door.

Being dumb, though, it took me a while to figure out who it was from. I racked my brains, wondering if the wife had ordered it, or even Mum. It wasn’t until I opened it and took the invoice out of its hand that I twigged.

And then boy, was I furious! I stomped around swearing loudly, and wrote in big bold letters across the invoice - ‘NOT mine! Take it BACK!’

And then I sat down and began to figure out what to d.

Blazoned in large letters across the parcel were the words, ‘Postage MUST be affixed if returning this Alien. The Delivery Office will refuse to deliver the parcel without postage.’ Not until a few days later did I realise that I could, indeed, just slam it into the Delivery unit. The Alien Club would have to pay for it, that was all.

I admired their cheek.

Well, obviously I told the wife about it that night. She just laughed. ‘What d’you expect?’ she mocked. ‘They have to make their money somehow.’

‘But I sent the form back!’ I protested . ‘They shouldn’t have sent me another Alien!’

‘Stupid!’ she said. ‘They’re bound to pretend they didn’t receive your form. There must be a thousand no-hopers like you every day!’

‘They said there’s no catch -!’

‘They were lying. Put the postage on and send it back!’

But I wasn’t going to do that. Not with my money. With their Alien.

So I rang up the Trade Licensing Dept. and the woman told me what to do. Apparently it was quite common. She gave me the required Laws to quote, told me to ask the Alien Club for a postage slip. If they didn’t send me one, the Alien was mine.

But I was still hopping mad.

So I resolved to protest.

Not for me the legal route. If they messed around with me they were going to get what they deserved!

So I wrote to the Alien Club, kindly informing them that I wasn’t going to pay for THEIR Alien, and that it was in fact sitting right outside my front door, talking quietly to itself.

I also told them that it was illegal to leave Aliens unsupervised, and that as I hadn’t paid for it it was their responsibility.

And then I sat back and waited.

That was over a year ago, and I’m no longer married. I was hoping they’d come round and try to take the creature away, because I’d cemented its feet into the path, but it’s still there, a little faded looking, a little unhappy, muttering resentfully to itself, and I have to use the back door now because of that sad look in its eyes.