Of Mice and Hoo-mons

Posted on Fri 1st Jul, 2022 @ 2:52am by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Criswell Sandbags
Edited on on Mon 18th Jul, 2022 @ 5:36am

3,272 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: The Hunted
Location: Graves' Office
Timeline: MD-5, 1400 hours

Criswell Sandbags stood nervous outside the counseling office where he had scheduled an appointment with Commander Graves. Criswell had seen Graves before a number of months ago and found it somewhat helpful, though he never went back. But in the last few days there had been significant changes in the life of the Ferengi-raised human that he'd become overwhelmed, and needed to talk to someone. He had learned that this was exactly what counselors do, but he wasn't thinking of this as therapy, just a conversation with a fellow human who might understand why Criswell was feeling the way he was. Finally, he pressed the chime and waited.

Paul heard the chime and glanced at the time indicator on his computer screen. He'd been busy writing the psych report for his previous patient and hadn't noticed it was almost time for his next one. He got up from his desk and pressed the release button for his office door.

"Mr. Sandbags, it's good to see you again. Come on inside," Paul invited, stepping back a pace so Criswell could enter.

"Thank you," Criswell said. He smiled, but his fists were locked onto his chest. His anxiety was very apparent. "I'm in need of some advice, Mr. Graves... specifically from a human."

"Well, I'm half-human, but I suspect that will do," Paul said. "Would you like some hot tea? Perhaps lavender or chamomile?"

"Oh, um," Criswell stammered. "The last time I was here you had a coconut soda that was very good. I actually haven't been able to find it since. Do you have some of that?"

"It's still on the replicator menu. Coming right up," Paul said. He ordered the coconut soda for Criswell and a cup of Twining's Christmas Tea for himself and brought both beverages over to where the sofa and armchairs were. He handed the tumbler of coconut soda to Criswell and then sat down. "What sort of advice do you need?"

Criswell took his drink and sat on the sofa. "Well, as you know, I have a new job in Brown Sector's casino. I've gone from a busboy to the 'Executive Assistant' in a matter of days. I've had a very large raise in pay, enough I think to move out of my current quarters and into something nicer. I'm also trying new things."

Paul leaned forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands. "That is a huge and swift change. I think I would find it overwhelming. Have you ever been trained in how to be an executive assistant? Do you know how to set appointments, arrange travel, place supply orders, determine when to reorder, inventory onhand supplies, choose the best suppliers, screen messages, maintain files, retrieve information from them, archive them? My yeoman, Deosha, does things I don't necessarily know how to do, and I would be lost without her. I frankly can't imagine how you're doing it, Criswell, unless you've done it before at some point in your life."

Criswell smiled. "Every child on Ferenginar learns these things in elementary school! My father owns a very successful restaurant in the Tower of Commerce. Being his only son, I took on a lot of those duties as a teenager. I knew how to run a business by the time I was sixteen, whereas most hoo-mons don't even know basic algebra! The only reason I couldn't run a business of my own was because of my genetic disadvantage."

"What genetic disadvantage is that?" Paul asked. Nothing looked wrong with Criswell.

Criswell shrugged. "I am hoo-mon," he said. "Here on Starbase 109 I can interact with other hoo-mons. I can even call myself 'hyoo-mon.' But because of my race, I could never be worthy enough to be a business owner on Ferenginar, or any other Ferengi settlement. It would be blasphemy!"

That was different, Paul thought. "Just so you know that Humans run businesses, too, and some of them make a great deal of profit."

"I know, I'm sorry," Criswell looked down and fidgeted. His voice began to shake a little. "It's just, I think of Ferenginar as the top. It's my home, after all. All my life I've heard about hoo-mon inferiority. In the few years I've been away from home, I've seen and heard things to the contrary. But it's still very hard for me to accept my own humanity."

"I can understand why you would feel that way, having grown up among people who feel the same way," Paul said with a nod. "I just don't want you to think of yourself as inferior, because you aren't inferior. It's simply how the Ferengi regard humans. Naturally, they think their own ways are the best, just as humans think their ways are best, and Klingons think their ways are best. Everyone is actually just as worthy as everyone else. It's only our individual ways of dealing with life that make each person better or worse."

"Well, that's what i came here to talk about," Criswell said, straightening in his chair. "I've been trying to deal with my life differently now. I've started trying new things. For example, I've always heard how tasty the cotton candy is from the local vendor. I always thought it was a silly hoo-mon invention, but I tried it the other day and I really liked it!"

"It certainly is a fascinating human invention; too sweet for me, though. We don't have anything like it on Betazed. I've always wondered how they would come up with something like that," Paul said. "What other things have you tried?"

"I tried something called a 'chili dog.' It's kind of like a sandwich. I was expecting it to be cold because of the word 'chilly,' but it turns out that was the name of the topping and it was piping hot." Criswell smiled again. "It was very good!"

Paul grinned. "And messy, too, right? Filled with mustard and cheese sauce? Yeah, those are good."

"There's another thing," Criswell said, looking back down and fidgeting with his fingers again. "There's a human female who paints portraits in Brown sector. I've seen her paintings before and I really like them. So I had her paint my portrait."

"Is she a short woman, buxom, with very dark skin and hair?" Paul asked. "Purulence Addams?"

"Yes! Her!" Criswell said. "She seems very nice."

"She is," Paul agreed. "Her art is quite striking. It's hard to explain how, but it's as if you get a better understanding of a person by looking at her paintings. Anyway, I like her work, too."

"The portrait she did for me has me in a fancy human suit," Criswell said. "I've never worn a suit before. I'm sending the painting to my father for his birthday. It will arrive a little late, but I'm sure he'll like it!"

"So you're saying she sees potential in you. I think sending the painting to your father is a wonderful idea. How does your family usually celebrate birthdays?" Paul asked.

Criswell shrugged. "It's usually just another hardworking day in the restaurant. Growing up, Father would always let me keep all of my tips on my birthday. After leaving Ferenginar I've always called them on their birthdays, and they call me on mine. This is the first year I've been able to afford something really special!"

"What usually happened to your tips, and why weren't you usually allowed to keep them, since you earned them?" Paul asked.

Criswell's eyes widened. "Oh! Goodness! I didn't mean it quite like that... all businesses with employees licensed to take tips must log a tipping tax for each day, which would be deducted from each employee's wages. What I meant was, I didn't have to pay the tipping tax that day. Father would count the amount and pay the difference himself."

"Oh! I misunderstood." Paul laughed. "Thanks for explaining. So Ferengi don't do the Human thing of having a birthday party with cake and gifts?"

"Erm... not exactly," Criswell shook his head. "Actually, Ferengi have more fun at funerals. Cake is usually served and lots of people receive wealth and possessions posthumously. That is, if the deceased had anything he wished to give. If he was particularly distinguished, you could even purchase some of their remains."

"I've heard Ferengi have that custom," Paul said. "I think I'll pass. So what other new things are you trying?"

Criswell gave a shrug. "That's about it. This is my third day on my job, so I've really only had the opportunity and time to try some new foods. Qaraq has me rather busy. He's given me a lot of control over my schedule though, so I can make the time to seek your advice. Do you know of any cultural things that interest hoo-mons? I've always been an avid reader, but I've never read any hoo-mon literature. I've always been told it would rot my brain."

"I was wondering what you needed advice about," Paul said. "Humans love fiction, so there's a lot of it to read, from more high-brow literature like William Shakespeare's plays, to various genres of novels--some of which truly might rot your brain. You might be interested in reading books by Warren Buffett, a human businessman who was noteworthy in his time for being one of the most successful investors on Earth. The same goes for another investor and businessman, Ray Dalio. Ayodeji Awosika is another excellent writer. From him you will learn about the foibles and flaws of humans because he writes about how to correct them. He primarily wrote essays, and his books are collections of his essays. My personal favorites among human fiction are the Sherlock Holmes stories, which are set in one of Earth's pre-spaceflight eras."

"Ooh!" Criswell said, curiosity piqued. "What kind of stories did Sherlock Holmes write?"

"Sherlock Holmes is the main character in a series of short stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He liked to solve mysteries--but he was extremely observant and paid great attention to details that most people would miss. Renato Solis is a lot like him in some ways."

"That sounds very interesting," Criswell said. "In school I always enjoyed the books that weren't about economics. I like stories about people. Most Ferengi fiction are comedies. A lot of them are about embarrassment, telling stories of having a mighty rise to riches and fame and then breaking one Rule of Acquisition and losing everything. But I also really like Cardassian legal thrillers, which are entirely different. With those it's not so much the outcome as it is the journey. They're very fascinating."

"Cardassian legal fiction reminds me of a poem I once read," Paul said to Criswell. "The bit I'm about to quote won't make much sense to you, but the last line is the gist of it."

Then comes Poe with his raven, like Barnaby Rudge,
Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge,
Who has written some things quite the best of their kind,
But the heart somehow seems all squeezed out by the mind.

"I much prefer Cardassian family sagas," Paul went on. "Have you ever read The Never-Ending Sacrifice? It's amazing."

"I've heard of it, but never read it," Criswell said. "I like the last line of your poem. I think I understand why you associate that with Cardassian literature. I've found their books are more about the technical than the emotional. I bet your Sherlock Holmes would appreciate their attention to detail."

"I am sure he would," Paul agreed. "I would love to watch him try to suss out a Cardassian, though."

"Not an easy feat for a mere hoo-mon!" Criswell said with a grin, but then he looked down and began fidgeting again. "Er, 'hyoo-man.'" He corrected himself. The correction seemed to strike a nerve deep within him, and he looked suddenly very uncomfortable, the way he always seemed to look. For a while he didn't speak, or even look at Paul. He could only shake internally from the anxiety, shame, and anger he felt all at the same time. It was like a curtain had dropped on the conversation.

They were slowly, slowly getting to the meat of the matter, Paul thought. "Decent people won't care how you pronounce the word 'human.' We just take it as a clue that you were raised by Ferengi. You seem to like Ferengi culture; it shines through you. Most humans regard Ferengi as just another interesting species, like the Trill or the Bajorans, but obsessed with business and economics."

"This isn't normally how I think..." Criswell admitted softly. "Part of me is very excited to try new human things, but at the same time I feel like an imposter. I'm used to hating humans... if I consider myself one, I hate them even more. I don't want to talk like them. I don't want to act like them. But the further away I am from home, and the closer to humanity I am here, it's like there are things about me that I'm just beginning to discover."

"So you want to be what you aren't and don't want to be what you are--but you're still uncertain about what you are. Is that correct?" Paul asked.

"No," Criswell said, then shook his head. "Or yes! I don't know! I think I'm curious about what I don't want to be... but maybe I'm already what I don't want to be and I don't know it! I just feel so confused!" Tears began to form off the side of his eyes. "I like and hate hoo-mons like I like and hate Ferengis. Oh sure, my father was kind to me, but it ended there! The Ferengis my age were so mean. They always talked about my small lobes and how I'd never learn how to make a profit! And then I come here where hoo-mons make fun of me because I 'act Ferengi.'" He wiped his tears and was able to stifle an incoming sob. "You are nice," he said, voice quiet but not as shaky as a few seconds ago. "Purulence is nice too. And Mr. Qaraq has been very kind as well. But I just don't see myself that way. At least, I never have before..."

"You are very nice--by which I mean, you are a person who is easy for others to like," Paul said. "Unfortunately, some humans are mean spirited and feel a sense of misplaced superiority if they think they can make fun of someone else--just like the Ferengis your age were. People like that don't deserve your friendship. Were your Tellarite roommates like that?"

"Yes," Criswell said. "And I'm kicking them out!" he added with a sheepish smile. "Since none of their income has gone toward rent or utilities for the last three months, I'm officially the primary name on the lease. I actually have been planning this for some time, but I knew if I kicked them out I would barely have enough pay to survive and would need another roommate anyway. But now that's not a problem!" Criswell grinned. "I like imagining the outrage on their ugly faces when they find out they're no longer living there!"

"Oh, so they're just squatting. Yes, best to kick them out. I just hope you and your landlord can make it stick," Paul said.

"Me too," Criswell said with a nod. "It'll be weeks before I can get the stench out."

Stench? Paul opted not to ask; he could imagine. "The confusion you feel is something I've come across before. Sometimes people I've worked with have discovered that they themselves are members of a group or subculture they've been taught to hate or to look down upon--and yes, it can be very difficult for them, especially for people who can't learn to accept themselves and love themselves for who they are. It...will require you to allow your ideas about reality and people to shift and broaden. Imagine a flower that has been squished into a tiny box, only now, it's been taken out of the box, and there's a whole, wide world to experience and get to know."

Criswell shifted in his seat, his hands fidgeting more. "Your metaphor is interesting," he said. "But it sounds like you're saying my human side is the flower. Would that make my Ferengi upbringing a weed? How can I rationalize that, if at this point it's all I've ever known?"

Paul shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm trying to say. There is no human side or Ferengi side to you; there is only you, who are trying to learn the truth about what and who you are, free of anyone else's opinions about what and who you are. Other people's opinions are the box. The squished flower is the truth. The flower unfolding and becoming free of its confinement is you learning about yourself and what you want to be, regardless of anyone else's opinions about what is and is not suitable for you."

Criswell looked down at his hands, taking in their nervous friction. He made an effort to stop, to concentrate. "I've never actually thought about what I want to be. Father has always wanted me to be a successful businessman, like himself. As a child I was never encouraged to pursue anything other than profit. My new job at the casino puts me in a very profitable position. But I'm beginning to realize that it's also something I want to do. I excelled at administrative studies when I was in school. It was a subject I enjoyed. It sounds to me like you're saying I should do something for me, without any outside influence. I think this job is exactly what I want, and it just so happens that it's the kind of job father always wanted for me."

"It sounds as if your father was much more perceptive than I was giving him credit for," Paul said. "If he had an eye for where your true talents lie, that's more than many fathers have for their sons. If you truly enjoy the work you're doing for Qaraq, you have a great advantage over all the people stuck in jobs they don't like." He sipped from his tea.

"Now that you've found work you like and a job you seem proud to do, it might be time to think of something you could do that isn't necessarily related to profit, something you do in your spare time just because you enjoy doing it. I like to read. An acquaintance of mine likes to knit. Miss Addams' sister likes to play a musical instrument. Whatever it is should bring you pleasure without necessarily being tied to profit. Some people do make profit from their hobbies and eventually turn them into businesses--but that isn't their initial goal. Have you ever thought of doing that?"

"Well," Criswell said, and stalled for a moment, his animated, shifty eyes darted back and forth in their sockets. "I also like to read. I read a lot in my spare time. Sometimes I think of story ideas, but they're not very good. Maybe I need more diversity in the stories I read. Sherlock Holmes sounds very intriguing. I think I want to read about him. Where should I start?"

"You should begin with the story called, 'A Study in Scarlet,'" Paul said. "That's the first one. You should be able to find out the order of the rest of the stories by asking the starbase's computer system. Enjoy!"

 

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