A Hurried Ford

It was at this moment a rather eccentric gentleman arrived. He normally arrived much later in the day, as was his wont. Rather it was his can't, as in Ford found it quite difficult to rise early. For the most part his cover story as an earth actor required late nights and the ingestion of numerous chemicals, or else people might think he was one of those completely unemployable actors. The key to proper blending in was just the right level of self destructive nihilism, mixed with a heady dose of egotism.

Ford was still shocked he had not been picked for some reality program or another, but figured that there was another level to the proper behavior that he as an alien could not comprehend. Merely mimicking the outward appearance of success did not lead to the proper feedback, a strange hiccup in the behavior of the inhabitants which he had made careful study of. Which is why Ford found the situation strangely uncomfortable when he arrived at his chosen victim's house, and not only did not find it demolished as planned, but his chosen agent stymied by Arthur's fierce indifference.

He wet his lips, looking from the man lying in the mud and contemplating cloud shapes to the angry little tubby man not doing his job. Ford had spent a lot of late nights hiding the announcements, moving the surveyor marks, and finally one especially dreary night when he had to abandon a particularly cute little thing to steal a settlement offer out of Arthur's mailbox. All of it seemed to go to waste, as he observed the workmen casually enjoying their lives, and beginning to think about the actions they were going to engage in. The last thing he needed was to get off track at this point. Arthur should have been at the pub ten minutes ago, and every second he delayed the inevitable was another minute that came right out of Ford's percentage.

"Hello, Arthur." Ford looked down upon the man lying in the mud, and gave his standard smile. The one which most people assumed meant that he was about to go for your neck.

"Ford! Oh finally, somebody who can actually think." Arthur spoke brightly, recognizing the face of his long time friend. "I haven't had a thing to eat this morning, and it looks like I'll be here a bit. I think I left my wallet upstairs." Arthur fished in the pocket of his bathrobe, before realizing that he'd completely walked out without his keys. "Don't worry, the door's not locked."

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Why don't you come with me?" Ford spoke brightly, his eyes flashing to the Council member, who conspicuously paid no attention to his arrival. Dammit, the idiot needed to show some kind of reaction. This was why Ford hated working with amateurs. Fortunately Arthur didn't seem to notice, as his attention was elsewhere.

"Oh you'll find it no problem. I move for one second, and they'll creep the bulldozer forward a few feet. They did it before." Arthur smiled at the workmen, one of whom raised his hand in a subtle show of solidarity.

"Well... uhm..." Ford realized that the subtle stuff wasn't going to work. Time to try another tactic. "It's not a particularly nice house, you know."

"Oh not you too." Arthur recoiled at the comment. "I know it's not a nice house, Ford. You know it's not a nice house, but it's MY house, and they're going to knock it down."

"Well, I'm certain you don't have to watch them do it." Ford helpfully suggested. "Come along with me down to the pub, you'll feel better."

"They closed the pub, Ford, have you not been paying attention?" Arthur shook his head. "That would be a great idea, if we could get the council down to the pub. Actually, Ford, that brings to mind the fact we're still under the village system in this jurisdiction, aren't we?"

"What does that have to do with..." Ford found himself confused at the sudden change in subject.

"No... no... I think we may have something here, Ford, you're a genius!" Arthur pushed himself up to a sitting position. "This whole thing was decided by a council, and thus... I can appeal this to low justice! This was an lord's decree, and as a result, the yeoman need to have a..."

"Arthur, this is the twenty first century, not the Twelfth." Ford objected.

"Then let him run me over like a good twenty first century man. I'll wait." Arthur smiled. "They can't just kill me, it will look bad. Speaking of which, I'm thinking of making this a video. Find some people to watch if you can. Don't just stand there, Ford, people will love this! Can't even censor it for being unfactual! Man Versus Bulldozer! We can even do one of those American Monster Truck announcer voices over it. It will be hilarious."

"Arthur... I'm going to level with you, I have to tell you something." Ford spoke earnestly, trying to change the subject from Arthur's continued plans of resistance to the demolition. "It's the most important thing you've ever heard, and I have to tell you down at the pub."

"Ford, I'm flattered, but I'm just not that way."

"What?" Ford balked at the response, before continuing. "No no, it's nothing like that, it's more important than that."

"So why can't you tell me here?" Arthur arched his eyebrow at Ford.

"Because you're going to need a very stiff drink." Ford concentrated on Arthur, willing him to leave the path of the bulldozer.

"In the house, above the deep fryer, behind the bottle that looks like somebody vomited on it there's a bottle of Glenlivet." Arthur replied. "What is it with you, Ford? Why is it so important to you that I get out of the way?"

"You don't want to go, you don't have to go... but they are going to demolish your house." Ford's face took on a grim determined expression. Arthur could feel the inevitable downward crush of time through that look, and the challenge upon it. The offer of answers there in his face, a enlightenment behind his dark piercing eyes.

"I don't think so." Arthur smiled. "And if they do decide to run me over, I fully intend to try to get my femur stuck in the machinery."