To a science fiction convention.

No, no. I’m not a geek. REALLY not. I mean, not that there is anything WRONG with being a geek. In fact, I have a rather soft spot for geeks myself. It’s just that in order to qualify for geekdom membership, I believe one has to possess some tech-related talent (like good, solid hacking abilities), a very high IQ, a MENSA membership, or a PhD in something astronomy-related. At least.

And since I can hardly even send and receive e-mail without releasing a thousand viruses onto the pc, and I don’t know what my IQ score is, and I belong to DENSA (a rival group which caters to the … well, let’s just say, the not too bright, started by a very witty South African reporter whom I adore) and not MENSA, and I don’t have a PhD, I think it’s safe to say that I’m certainly not a geek.

So how did I end up at the Shore Leave 26 that took place in Hunt Valley, Maryland on July 9, 2004?

It’s the boy’s fault (of course!). He figured I would feel at home there, since I’m a bit of an alien meself and all, you know? (Yeah, ha ha, he is verrrrry funny, isn’t he? Don’t answer that if you were going to say yes.)

Also though, his singing group performed there. And since more than half the group’s members are rocket scientists who possess most of the above qualities (talent for all things technical; very high IQs; I don’t know about MENSA, but all of them could be members if they wanted to be I’m sure; and they actually DO have PhDs in astronomy and physics related fields), they also fit right in.

Okay, so I’ve always known that Science Fiction Conventions (or Cons – see? I’ve even learned some of the jargon) take place. I’ve always known that there are some avid Star Trek fans out there. I even knew that they call themselves Trekkies. But, I never knew just HOW fanatic enthusiastic they really are!

So we enter the hotel lobby, lugging sound equipment and the like (being a groadie is hard work, man, hard work!) and then I happened to look up and nearly dropped a 30 pound speaker on my foot.

For there, right in front of my very eyes, were no less than five scary-looking cloaked creatures with funny hair and strange boils on their faces. Well, especially around their foreheads and hairlines.

“Wha..?!” I asked, all subtlety and composure, of course.

The boy smiled. “Come on sweetie. Haven’t you ever seen Star Trek before? Those are Klingons.”

It was clear that I was in dire need of a crash course in Sci-Fi when I told them that my only Sci-Fi experience thus far included watching Alf, The Bionic Man, and Knight Rider as a kid when all of it was dubbed into Afrikaans on South African TV.

“Oh, and those other aliens… Third Rock From the Sun,” I said, proud that my Sci-Fi knowledge is so surprisingly extensive.

So the members of the boy’s group intervened, and took it upon themselves to be responsible for my Sci-Fi for Dummies education. They gathered ‘round and began explaining that fans of all these shows (but none of the shows that I had mentioned!) and movies and comics and novels came together like this to dress up and mingle and listen to talks given by washed-up former actors and to watch movies and to get autographs from writers and actors and to buy stuff. And that everyone involved takes the process dead seriously.

When they saw me paying attention and nodding a lot and going “mmm,” “I see,” and “A-ha,” while they pounded me with words like “filk music,” “Trills,” “Valkans,” and “fan fiction”, they were confident that I knew enough to be safely left on my own (I wasn’t!) to sell their merchandise while they geared up for their performance.

But before he left, the boy had time to identify yet another creature dressed from head to toe in haggard garb and with strange goggles in the vicinity of the eyes.

“That is a Sand Person.” He whispered and then took off after the rest of the group.

And then I was on my own.

Despite my own alien status, I still felt very much like a fish out of water. So I sat behind the merchandise table, nervously fussing with the CD displays and folding and refolding the t-shirts.

Finally I remembered the goodie bag I had received upon admission. I remembered that it contained a complimentary copy of the Star Trek Deep Space Nine “The Lives of Dax” anthology and reached for it, grateful to have a distraction and determined to further my Sci Fi education.

Just as I was about to lose myself in the first story (since it required the utmost concentration in order for me to make any sense of it) a shadow fell across the page.

I was too afraid to look up, nervous at what alien being I might encounter.

So when I finally did look up, I was very relieved to find a perfectly normal looking guy dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and with no terrifying boils all over his face. He was … could it be? NORMAL! (At least as far as his looks was concerned.)

“Hi!” I was so relieved at the sight of him, my greeting was probably a bit too “it’s-YOU-and-you-are-long-lost-family-ish.”

He looked through the CDs and I tried regaining my business-like composure and started explaining who the group is and talking about their repertoire, etc.

He quickly interrupted me. “Oh, I know.”

And then he started just babbling on and on about his extensive Sci-Fi collection of books. (“My house is filled to the brim with the thousands of books I own. I like to read. Do you like to read?” And not waiting for an answer, he launched straight into the next rhetorical question: “Who’s your favourite author? I love Author I’dneverheardof and so and so…”) He talked and talked until my head was spinning all over again, and the blank stare I’m certain I gave him didn’t deter him one bit. In fact, if anything, it probably served as further encouragement!

Later I told the boy that I must have that sort of face, because why else do people just approach me at random and start talking about all kinds of odd things?

Because Mr. Paperback Sci-Fi collector was certainly not the last person/alien/being to approach me that night.

A girl, dressed in a very sexy bustier and a long, flowing skirt (but other than the costume, very “normal” looking also, much to my relief) overheard a few of the incomprehensible words of his enthusiastic monologue and interrupted him with a monologue of her own.

This time at least I managed to catch a few familiar words, like “bookshelves” and “overflowing” and “autographed,” but frankly, I was too intrigued by the strange, manic glow in her eyes to pay much attention to what she was carrying on about.

Both of them disappeared just as swiftly as they had first materialized and so I settled back in with my book.

It wasn’t long before another silhouette fell across the page. This time, though, the shadow had tell-tale pointy ears.

As I slowly lifted my gaze, I remembered the Sci-Fi lesson inflicted upon me by the group earlier: “When you see people with pointy ears, they can either be Valkans or elves.”

This guy indeed had the pointy ears.

I almost expected him to say: “I come in peace, Earthling!” But nothing of the sort happened. In fact, I was sort of hoping he would say something first, but instead he just stood there, looking expectantly at ME!

“Nice ears?” I tried, not sure of the proper Valkan protocol. (Aha… I knew he was a Valkan see, because he had a spacey emblem on a silvery spacey-looking uniform.) Either he didn’t hear me or he chose not to acknowledge me at all.

So I ventured into familiar grounds and started singing the praises of the group, pointing out CDs and t-shirts and waiting for him to either buy something or leave.

He didn’t budge. So I think I asked something about if Klingons speak Klingon, what language do Valkans speak, instantly blowing my cover as an illiterate.

Luckily it seemed that he didn’t even notice this time. “Do you speak Klingon?” He asked, enthusiastically. Again, not really pausing long enough for an answer, he launched into a series of grunts.

I looked at him, my mouth agape. And then, realizing that I was on the verge of laughing, I resorted to the Plan B that I didn’t even know I had until that moment.

I answered him in my first language, Afrikaans (which is filled with charming, phlegm-inducing guttural sounds, much like Klingon!): “Goeiemôre. Hoe gaan dit met jou?”*

He actually gasped, and I don’t know if it was my imagination, but his already pointy ears seemed to perk up even more. Then he asked me, nearly beside himself: “A new dialect?”

I nodded, solemnly.

“Whoa, dude. That’s cool,” he muttered and walked away.

Only after my impromptu fib did it occur to me that he may have run off to round up his fellow Valkans and Klingons and goodness knows what other creatures and bring them to me for a lesson in this new Klingon Dialect.

Luckily, it didn’t happen. But you can believe that I ducked every time I saw a pointy ear amidst the crowd (and that happened a lot, because there were many. Probably served me right, though, for lying).

But I also saw many other um… space cadets that night. Storm Troopers; a very scary-looking Darth Vader, breathing very audibly through the speakers in his helmet; more of those Sandmen (why aren't they around when I’m trying to sleep, dammit!?); and tons of other characters that I can’t even remember.

(Oh, and a red-cloaked member of the Imperial Guard (I could see my own face reflected in his helmet, and I looked terrified!) asked me to the masquerade ball. I declined very politely.)

Much to my dismay though, Alf was nowhere to be seen…

* Translation of the Afrikaans: Good morning. How are you?

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