The photo is from “The Darkroom” writing prompt… click it to check out other responses!
When the aliens first arrived on Earth, there were… misunderstandings. Highly intelligent though they were, the beings were extraordinarily literal.
Martha did her best to accommodate them for her tours – she really did. She arranged things to start an additional half-hour early so that they would have time to read – in excruciating detail – the entire waiver and ask questions. So. Many. Questions. She’d reviewed her spiel and removed euphemisms, word-play and jokes from the notes, because, frankly, a day-trip to Algonquin Park didn’t have time for a two hour debate on whether a bear did indeed do business in the woods, and what that business might be, and what customs might be involved. She’d learned to switch between parent of impressionable child and tour-guide for Travellers speak, because they were slightly more likely to understand the expression “Does a bear do business in the woods?” if she used more adult language. Slightly.
So her business of an ex informing her that actually he wouldn’t be taking their son fishing like he’d scheduled months ago was just SUPER. She loved her son dearly, but he had the verbal filter of an 8 year old boy and the subtlety of a battering ram. And she didn’t have time to find someone to look after him for the next two days of Traveller tours.
“As you can see, the Park is heavily forested with a wide variety of tree species, including Jack Pine, birch and Sugar Maple. The booklet goes into further detail of all tree species found in the park, and methods of identifying them.” Martha drove down the highway, chatting her way through her on-the-road information, knowing from past experience that the eight Travellers in her tour van were alternating between staring intently out the window, staring intently at their informational booklets and staring intently at the various parts of the interior of the van, all with equal intensity and interest. Feedback on her tours didn’t give her a hint about what she could say that they would be more interested in, and she suspected that if she rattled off stats about the 1982 Superbowl or about the tour bus’s maintenance history they would be equally interested. Since starting Traveller tours, she’d had to do research on the tour bus, in fact, to accommodate those who wanted to know about plastic used in the old bus instead of about birds that migrated through the park. They were just plain interested.
Ben draped himself over the back of the passenger seat, grinning a gap-toothed grin, and crowed, “You don’t know JACK!”
OH business, Martha thought.
There was a discordant buzzing in the back, as the Travellers carefully dissected this statement.
One reedy voice after another arose, each politely waiting until the previous one had finished their sentence before adding their own rebuttal.
“I have met a Jack, but am understanding that this was not the only Jack, and am unsure if meeting is adequate to equate to knowing.”
“I have indeed, never met a Jack. Is this a matter of concern?”
“I have met more than one Jack, and feel confident in the 81st percentile of knowing one of them, though his full name is Jack Perkins and lives at 43 Seventh Street in the town of Toronto. Having worked closely with him for 257 working days between March 23, 2016 and today, I believe I know him well enough for that descriptor to apply. If this is the Jack of which you speak, I feel confident in refuting your statement.”
And on, and on. Most of them had, at some point, met a Jack. Only two thought they could probably consider their relationship with the Jack in question as knowing.
Martha then listened in astonishment to her son’s reply. “The Jack I’m talking about is a Jack Pine tree, and the phrase, you don’t know Jack, is one way of recognizing them, because the phrase is usually paired with this gesture,” he paused for demonstration, and Martha winced and made a note to have another conversation with her son while the Travellers hummed. “And if you look at a Jack Pine, that’s kind of what it looks like they’re doing.”
The buzzing hum rose again, and again, they spoke.
“It is an offensive expression meant to show disrespect towards another’s knowledge base.”
“But trees on this planet cannot be disrespectful due to their intelligence level, so they are not, in fact, being disrespectful.”
Another buzzing conference.
“It is funny because no disrespect is actually being shown.”
“It is funny and informative”
The vehicle filled with the sound of crickets chirping, the Traveller equivalent of applause.
Martha wished Travellers were more appreciative of 21st Century Earth humour, as she’d love to hear them at a comedy show.
Travellers noticed everything. So, as happened at least once on every tour, they wanted to stop and see an animal crossing sign. As Martha was about to go into her prepared explanation of the fact that the signs were representations, her son laughed.
“You’re funny – that’s just a picture of a moose. It’s just to let you know that moose like to use this part of the road to cross.”
The normally highly sensitive Travellers took this in stride, apparently not concerned that a small human had come very close to calling them unintelligent (or an equivalent word, all of which were highly offensive in Traveller culture, a trait shared by most human cultures).
The rest of the day was peppered with her son’s saucy explanations of things, given in such a direct and simple manner that they cut through what could well have been hour-long debates about the various meanings of ‘bark’, or a seriously concerned Traveller anxiously explaining that it was not calling Fairy Lake a derogatory term for homosexuals, but that someone else may have intended that in naming the lake, or may not have. Martha had never had such a smoothly run day with Travellers in the year she’d been touring them.
As they cruised out of the park and back to the Traveller’s hotel (Deerhurst, whose deer had not yet been noted, near the possibly-derogatory Fairy Lake) for the weekend in the waning light, one of them spoke up. “Ben, son of Martha. For one so young in years, you are rich in knowledge pertinent to the Algonquin Park, and accurate in your speech. Do you spend a very large percentage of your time there?”
Ben grinned and glanced at his mother. She saw the look and knew he was about to push his luck.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”