Page 18 of Flirtasaurus
I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.
Chapter Five
Planetariums make me feel weird.
Every time I’m in one, I get the heady feeling that I’m all powerful and limitless and precious and perfect… and simultaneously a completely helpless, meaningless, ultimately worthless speck of human goo.
Both concepts feel completely accurate and true.
Yup, planetariums make me feel weird.
Right now, I’m sitting inside the Museum of Natural History’s massive Galileo Theater with three members of my Trix and Monty team: Bruce, our builder; Damon, the museum’s in-house graphic designer; and Lionel, our consulting paleontologist. Yes, that makes me the only female member of the team. Besides Dr. Knowles, of course.
Being the odd female out doesn’t bother me one bit, though. I grew up the middle girl between two brothers, and I’m well accustomed to being only one of a handful of women in the room where scientific discussions are being had and decisions are being made. It was that way in my hometown’s zoology club at the community rec center. It was that way in most of my college geology major classes. And now I’m finding it’s certainly that way in “the real world.” Don’t get me wrong, it ain’t right—and it’s hopefully changing day by day—but I’m not about to let it get me down.
We’re assembled here under these faux stars for a team bonding activity and to potentially give our feedback to the museum’s astronomy team. Apparently, they are testing out their new dino-inspired presentation, which is set to launch alongside the Trix and Monty unveiling. It’s called—
“THE DAY THE DINOSAURS WERE DECIMATED!” a voice booms way too freaking loudly over the speakers, followed by piercing, screeching microphone feedback.
“Ah! Gosh! Geez!” We all cover our ears.
The voice resumes. Softer now.
“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. I should have checked my sound levels before beginning. Starting over. Ahem. ‘The Day the Dinosaurs Were Decimated.’ That was better, yeah? Yeah, that was better.”
That voice.
Holy shit, it’s him.
“It’s Alf,” I say a bit breathlessly.
“Alf?” Bruce, the builder, whispers. “I loved that show!”
“Huh?”
What is this guy talking about now?
“You have a thing for aliens from the planet Melmac who like to eat cats, FitzGerald?” He chortles. “And hey, why do your eyebrows look so hairy today?”
“Um. No? I don’t?” I whisper back, completely confused. “And do yourself a favor and donotmention my eyebrows again, okay?”
Lionel nudges him. “She has no idea what you’re talking about, Bruce. ‘Alf’ was way before her time.”
I already love Lionel. An insanely smart scientist in his fifties who actually speaks to young women with respect. What a concept! I’m really looking forward to learning from him during these next few months.
That heavenly voice rumbles in my ears again, more relaxed and in command this time. I zero in on the sound as though it’s the only thing that exists because, at this moment, it is.
“For hundreds of years, humans have pondered and puzzled ‘How exactly did the dinosaurs die?’ Thus, for hundreds of years, amateur and professional paleontologists alike have speculated on what could have occurred to sweep these massive beasts off our planet. From the feasible philosophy that lack of vegetation led to starvation to the downright absurd arguments that perhaps aliens annihilated them or that the dinosaurs did, in fact, fart themselves into extinction, all theories have been given their due.”
“Oh God,” I groan.
The animated images above us shift from a limping Lambeosaurus and a clearly dehydrated Deinonychus to a Brachiosaurus blowing a massive cloud of methane out of its butt.
“Who wrote this thing?” Lionel muses. I can see his forehead scrunching even in the dim light of the planetarium.
Damon adds his somewhat positive two cents, “Not sure. The graphics aren’t completely terrible, though.”
And of course, we hear from Bruce. “Hey, go easy. That guy just pulled off a fart joke without a hitch. Color me impressed!”
