Some assembly required...

these are my own tags but i wrote a short little fic about it while in institute:

Grace can't quite wrap his head around it. "Wait, so . . . Jesus? Like, Jesus from the Bible? He visited you guys?"

Rocky's leg taps thoughtfully. "What Bible, question?"

"Um. It's a book of Jesus's teachings, I think."

"Oh understand. Erid has book of Jesus teachings, too. Very long book. Much to learn."

Grace, raised agnostic and grown atheist, really does not know how to come to terms with the fact that the Eridians know who Jesus is. He hasn’t moved since Rocky mentioned it, not even to fidget. That means that Jesus is real? Apparently? Christianity is right—or, well, the Mormons are right?

"So Erid already knew about humans," Grace states, crossing his arms. That, at least, is something he can address right now. He can work on the whole restructure of his belief system later. "Because Jesus was—is?—human."

"Is not," Rocky says with a vehement shake of his body. "Jesus is like Eridian. Jesus is Rock."

"No."

"Yes. Jesus say so Himself."

"Pretty sure he didn't say that."

Rocky makes a trilling sound that Grace has come to recognize as a huff. "Grace not read Jesus book so he not know. Rocky read Jesus book every day. Rocky baptized. Rocky 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 (endowed). Not Grace."

Grace rubs his eyes with his palms, knocking his glasses entirely off his face. "Well then, how did they crucify him?" he asks, not even trying to hide his frustration.

“No understand word.”

"Crucifixion? They make a cross, like this?" He makes a cross sign with his fingers. "Nailed Jesus up there? How would they nail him if he was a rock?"

Rocky doesn't even hesitate. "Strong nails. Not cross. Asterisk."

Grace just barely doesn't burst out laughing at that image. It makes sense, he supposes. An Eridian Jesus would have to be crucified on an asterisk.

"Look, Rock, I'm no expert on Jesus," Grace says, raising his hands in surrender. "But maybe we have two different ones? Because I'm pretty sure he was human on earth, and the whole thing he did was die for our sins."

"Yes. Die for our sins."

"I mean, like, earth's sins."

"No, die for all sins. Earth and Erid."

"Did he die on Erid, too?"

"No. Jesus died somewhere else. Rocky now know was earth. Came to Erid after."

It doesn't make sense. It would be like - like saying Jesus went to the Americas after he died in Jerusalem, or wherever it was.

Then again, none of this makes any sense.

"Okay," Grace relents, before Mary can intervene on what sounds to her like a conflict. "Okay. So, Eridians are Mormons?"

"Yes, 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅝," Rocky says, a word that sounds like a four-part harmony lingering on a high note. "Mormon. ocky will teach Grace! Like science!"

He might as well learn about Erid's religious culture before they arrive. It's definitely something he ought to be at least passingly familiar with. "Sure, buddy. Teach me."

Rocky hops excitedly. "Yes, yes, yes! Rocky set apart as missionary in case of aliens. Preach My Gospel in my room!"

Grace laughs. "A missionary? Like, one of the guys with name tags?"

Rocky hums. "Yes, I need name tag. Grace make Rocky name tag."

"You don't need that."

"Human missionaries wear name tag. Rocky need name tag."

"Rock."

"Cannot be consecrated missionary without name tag."

Grace sighs. "Fine, but it's gonna be made of paper. Happy?"

"Happy happy happy! Like Plan of Happiness!"

At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.

At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.

“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.

The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.

I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.

I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.

I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht. 

i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.

as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.

disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.

at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.

i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.

i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.

This Father’s Day I just want anyone who might not have a father worth celebrating that you at least have an uncle who’s worth celebrating: good old Uncle J. Golden Kimball

And now a relevant J. Golden Kimball story

When he was serving in the Southern States mission, uncle Golden and his companion were out walking when they encountered a priest. The priest sneered at then and said, “Good morning, you sons of the devil!”