I found myself in a strange place; a city called Nanjing.
The air was thick, and the dark sky was alight with explosives. I am pretty sure those things rocketing into the air and shattering into pieces of colour were what shot me down in the first place. My barrel-sized ship had crashed into an alleyway, which was surrounded by buildings with zipping neon lights. Smells from the darker corners made my eyes water.
Luckily, the ship did not look very damaged. Any sensible alien would have crawled back into his craft and shot out of there. But I, a mere too-curious Martian on a janitorial mission to Sector Three, was far too interested now. Besides, from the looks of the alley, a janitorial mission to Earth was far more pressing. I rolled the ship behind a dumpster (janitors never got cloaking devices) and shouldered my broom.
The natives all looked identical. Black hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. All were taller than me. Had their scientists figured out cloning? I crept farther out of the alleyway. No, that one had a wider nose than his mate. The young female’s hair was a violent orange, and another male had eyebrows with more unruly bristles than my old broom. They were each different.
Each staring at me.
A crowd was starting to form. Cameras flashed. I realised, while I did not look entirely different from Earthlings, I definitely didn’t look the same as these natives. They watched me like I was fascinating. I felt like that soap-opera celebrity from Saturn’s Ring 10, the one with the mesmerizing tentacles. I gave a thumbs up. It was the Earthling thing to do.
“Hello. How are you? Where are you from?” a native boy said. My interstellar communicator translated this and programmed my words to be spoken to his language, of course. “America?” he urged. “Canada? France? England?”
“Yes,” I said. “England.” Even janitors knew to keep secrets.
The boy eyed my pointy ears, and I took the chance to dart into the crowd.
The natives drove strange, strictly-grounded crafts and sometimes piled chairs, beer, or even people onto them in a way that seemed to defy gravity. But maybe gravity was less stubborn in Nanjing. Strange and delicious smells, excluding something called stinky tofu, filled the sidewalks where vendors sold snacks. Dogs looked both ways before crossing the roads; they were better at dodging speeding buses and scooters than me.
At one point, as I was sweeping up cigarette butts, I wandered into a group of females. Rows and rows of them moved in unison, swinging their hands and feet to the music. I was smacked in the nose several times before I finally raised my hands and broom, swaying and twirling through the line until I came out the other side.
Despite that ambush, I decided these natives were friendly. They had continued to stare and point, but when I asked an old shopkeeper for a face mask, she gave me one for free. I think she thought my green-gray skin was some sort of disease and didn’t want me contaminating her planet.
People suddenly stopped staring; the face mask was the key!
With my newfound freedom, I cleaned vigorously but, whenever I finished sweeping a sidewalk, a new layer of dust had already settled on it. Useless! I nearly returned to my ship in frustration when I saw a woman in a bright orange vest sweeping the sidewalk as well. Finally, a member of Earth’s janitorial department! I hurried to join her. Together we swept the sidewalk, and she looked at me and laughed and laughed. When we were finished, she gave me a thumbs up and said, “OK!”. Then she shooed me away.
What confusing beings these were.
Almost immediately after, I was cornered by a few natives with a camera. They shook some money in my direction and asked me to participate in their commercial. At first, I could not tell if the human was angry or excited, because he just kept yelling.
“…Tell your thoughts on Nanjing as a foreigner!” he said. I felt like I should pat his shoulder and calm him down.
So I told the camera what I thought; “Your city is very, very dirty, and even Uranus would be ashamed”, and received ¥100 for my work. Simple as that!
I explored more eagerly now, ready to spend my cash.
I ended up in a bar with phrases, names and occasional lewd drawings scrawled across the walls. A fast-paced song bounced the floor as it paid tribute to someone named Barbara Streisand. I suddenly realised these humans looked different from the natives. Many of them clustered around tables, sipping out of buckets and smoking from hookahs. Mostly young, these Earthlings had brown hair, black hair, yellow hair. … Some had pale, white skin while others were dark. They could not be natives.
A thick arm yanked me to a table, and I nearly lost my broom. One hour later, I was finishing my fourth bucket and participating in a belching contest with my new American friend. My face mask slipped once or twice, but by that time, no one noticed a Martian at their table. Earthlings were such lightweights.
After exchanging my galaxy-phone number, I gave those offensive bathrooms a quick sweep and headed out the door. The natives had mostly disappeared. All the dust had settled on the roads as if resting for the night. The quiet of the city felt heavy after the bar’s noise. As I retraced my steps, vendors were closing up their stands, and a few homeless dogs roamed the sidewalks for scraps.
My ship was still behind the dumpster, and I rolled it out and got in. As I rose into the air, past the tireless neon lights, I tucked my face mask into the dashboard compartment.
Nanjing would see me again.
