The Introvert

The morning the aliens seized Earth, I was in my manager’s office asking him why, for the fourth time, I’d been passed over for a supervisory position.

“Now, Meg,” said Stan Howell, leaning back in his padded chair, “we’ve been over this all before, haven’t we?” Stan was a jovial middle-aged man with a braying laugh. He was popular with his staff, especially his inner circle, who gathered around him at the coffee station every morning to rehash the latest episode of Game of Thrones. I was not a member of his inner circle.

“Refresh my memory,” I responded, perched on a guest chair and squinting in the bright morning sun which backlit Stan.

“Well, Meg, you’re not a team player, are you?” said Stan. “I mean, you never go to lunch with your co-workers, or attend the employee picnic or holiday party, or come to the big conference room for birthday cake. You’re unsociable.”

“What’s wrong my work performance?” I countered.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” brayed Stan, spreading his arms wide. “Your work is exceptional. Smile Travel Insurance is very lucky to have you! But a supervisor needs to guide people, to inspire people. You always work alone.”

“So, I don’t qualify because I’m an introvert?” I asked.

“Well, not exactly,” answered Stan. “Introverts can certainly be good supervisors. It’s more than that in your case. You just… well, you can be somewhat… odd.”

“For example?” I slid the guest chair over to get out of the worst of the sun.

“Well, remember the Teambuilding Session?” he asked.

“Of course, at the Hyatt,” I replied. A more miserable day would be difficult to imagine. It was mandatory, or I’d never have been there. I should have called in sick. 

“Well, when we went around the room and everyone was asked what animal they wanted to be, you said a cockroach.”

“That’s right,” I nodded.

“That’s creepy,” said Stan. “A supervisor needs to have the respect of their staff. Who respects a cockroach?”

“Lynne Deere,” I named the woman who’d just received my promotion, “wanted to be a kitten. Who respects a kitten?”

“Everyone loves kittens!” declared Stan. “They’re cute and furry. Cockroaches are disgusting, disease-ridden vermin that scuttle across dirty kitchen floors and hide in the walls.”

“They’ve also survived for millennia,” I added. “They’re resilient.”

“Maybe so,” shrugged Stan, “but it’s still creepy.”

“So you’re saying I’ll never be a supervisor because I’m introverted and resilient?” I asked.

“No, you’ll never be a supervisor because you’re unsociable and creepy,” snapped Stan impatiently, glancing at the wall clock. “And I have a status meeting with the execs in five minutes, so can we please—” 

It was at this point that the sky suddenly lit up with a dazzling flash. “What the hell?” yelled Stan in confusion. The fire alarm sounded and we joined the herd of frightened employees crowding down the stairs.

#

Of course, in the coming days, we learned all too well that Earth was no longer our own. The aliens, or the Vermi, as they came to be called, weren’t a bad lot. They weren’t here to harvest humans for food; they had plenty to eat on their home planet, which we called Vermiplas. No, the Vermi did not want to harm us in any way. They were a very gentle, unassuming species. It happened that they had been watching us for many years as entertainment. Earth was essentially one big reality show to them, and their favorite episodes involved conflict, especially workplace drama and children’s sporting events. This behavior was foreign to their meek temperament, and since, as they say, opposites attract, it was a popular amusement on Vermiplas to watch a human boss berate an underling, an irate parent assault a referee, or a fired employee evacuate his bowels on his supervisor’s desk.

In the early post-Vermi days, Smile Travel Insurance experienced a huge increase in claims. Luckily, as our fine print explained, we were not liable for cancellations due to alien invasion. But new business plunged, as people stuck close to home. Lynne Deere initiated inane contests to boost employee morale; most involved selfies. Stan Howell brought in doughnuts several times a week, eating many of them himself.

As I said, the Vermi had been watching us for many years from Vermiplas. So why now did they decide to invade Earth? Well, the Vermi were such fans of their Earth “shows” that they wanted to meet their favorite stars in person. Earth was now not only entertainment but a vacation destination. Vermi guides were soon escorting Vermi tourists to the sites of popular Earth shows so they could check off their bucket-lists.

I guess I should mention their appearance. They looked pretty much like human-sized upright earthworms. Wrinkly skins, no appendages. It was hard to imagine such primitive-looking beings having so much intelligence and power. Some scientists speculated that their entire body was one big brain. Other scientists felt that this was not their natural form at all. What couldn’t be denied was their demeanor. The Vermi were shy and demure. They shrank from attention. They didn’t like to be touched.

They didn’t grasp most music but were receptive to Gregorian chants and Rap. They were mystified by dancing but enjoyed The Wobble. They didn’t care for most movies or TV shows but loved Westerns. They hated leaf blowers. Within days of the takeover, every leaf blower on the planet mysteriously failed to work. Even the top scientists couldn’t figure out why, and by then we’d all learned that we’d never outsmart the Vermi.

Early on, the two world powers, the United States and Russia, collaborated on a weapon to destroy the single Vermi spacecraft which orbited Earth. China, North Korea, France, and the UK also sent their best scientists to assist in the project. Together they produced a powerful missile and launched it with confidence. Unfortunately, it turned out the spacecraft was only a mirage created by the Vermi for just such a purpose. We never knew where the real spacecraft was, or even if one existed. Anyway, the whole project was a boon for entertainment back on Vermiplas. They’d all been “tuning in” to the weapon development project, which was rife with drama. A bunch of scientists working together, even with the fate of the free world at stake, produced more professional conflict, backstabbing, and deceit than a whole season of Survivor. The Vermi lapped it up.

Once you’d seen them a time or two, you got used to their appearance. Some people took longer than others to adjust. The first time Nick, our designated Vermi guide, presented himself at the office, Lynne Deere fainted dead away, a pretty tumble of pink and gold in the cubicle aisle, and Stan Howell choked on his chocolate-glazed doughnut. Now, Nick was simply the Earth name our guide had chosen for himself. I suspect he fancied himself as Nick Barkley, the handsome if belligerent brother from The Big Valley. This was confirmed when one day he appeared wearing a tight black leather vest across his middle. Nick reassured us that he meant no harm and asked us to carry on with our work. Soon he was shepherding Vermi tourists around the workplace. They were quite diffident beings, carefully following Nick and rarely venturing off on their own. Their wormy heads would shrink down when startled. But when introduced to the human “stars”, their wrinkled skins would ripple in pleasure. They would pose next to us, but I never saw anyone take a photo; I imagine their friends on Vermiplas could just automatically see them. 

They posed with Lynne Deere, who had taken a week off to recover from her traumatic first meeting with Nick, saddling me with her workload for the duration. They posed with Stan Howell, who was flattered by the attention. But mostly they posed with me. Every day, Nick would call me to Reception, where a small group of Vermi tourists would wriggle with delight. After posing with them, they invariably asked to see my cubicle.  

“Nick,” I asked him after one such visit, “why do they always want to see me?”

“Why, Meg,” he chuckled in surprise, “you’re the most popular person at Smile Travel Insurance. You’re proficient, introverted, and resilient. You prefer to work alone. You’re very like us. We love to root for you. For years we’ve watched you cover for incompetent supervisors, cleaning up their messes, saving their skins. We can’t get enough!”

I sensed opportunity.

#

Business started to pick up again within a few months, as people became accustomed to the Vermi and began planning vacations again. The workplace became more relaxed. Lynne Deere cancelled her silly contests. Stan Howell scheduled another Teambuilding Session at the Hyatt. I was able to get out of it since I was pulling some important data together for the actuaries. It was a wonderful, quiet morning. I completed my task and had just emailed the spreadsheet when Nick appeared. This was the perfect time.

“Nick,” I began, “you’ve said that I’m very popular with your people.”

“Of course you are, Meg,” he responded. “You’re very like us. Unsociable, introverted, and resilient. In fact, you’re so like us that it’s creepy!”

“Well,” I ventured, “given that, and given that you’re pretty much all-powerful here, then why not promote me to supervisor? I’m ready for the challenge.”

Nick’s wrinkled brow quivered. “Oh no, Meg! We could never do that! It would destroy our enjoyment. We always root for the underdog, better still that it’s someone like us.”

“But being promoted wouldn’t change my personality,” I insisted. “I would still be me.” 

“But you wouldn’t be the underdog, would you?” Nick said sadly. “You’d be a team player, like all the others.”

“So you’re saying I’ll never be a supervisor because I’m unsociable and it’s creepy?” I asked.

“No, you’ll never be a supervisor because you’re introverted and resilient,” snapped Nick impatiently, his wrinkly brow shuddering. “And I have new tourists arriving any minute, so can we please—” 

I waited for a dazzling flash in the sky, but it never came. 

by Joli Huelskamp