UFO
Me and my friend are in Bullock’s department store swiping all the stickers off the surf clothing, shoving them in our backpacks, and when we’re satisfied that we’ve gotten enough to cover our pee-chee folders and impress all the chicks who don’t know we exist, we head toward the front doors.
Right when we walk out this lady cop stops us. “Hi, boys. Whaddya got in your backpacks?”
“Uh, nothing. Books. Our homework.”
“You mind showing me what’s in there?”
And we’re looking at her kinda funny because we think we’ve gotten away with it, and because she’s like thirty years old and she’s wearing braces and when she talks she slobbers all over her face, which isn’t good if you’re a cop and you’re trying to be all authoritative and stuff.
We don’t answer her question. We just stare at her, both in our own individual minds wondering why this woman’s wearing braces, the first person over 14 with braces we’ve ever seen with them.
And when she wipes away the spittle with her sleeve, she says, “You looking at my head gear, Stan?”
And we were all like, “Stan? Who the hell is Stan?”
And she says, all slobbery and aggressively, “Stan’s a kid from a TV show in the future, South Park, whose sister beats him up for making fun of her braces. Now if you don’t give me those stickers you stole right now, I’m gonna smash a TV on your heads just like Stan’s sister did to him!”
“Dang! Why you gotta be so mean? We weren’t looking at your headgear!”
And as we dig into our backpacks, and hand over fistfuls of Gotcha and Billabong and Rip Curl and No Fear stickers, a metal-filled smile spreads across her face. “That’s right, boys, keep ‘em coming. Give me all the stickers and I won’t call your parents.”
And when our backpacks are empty of stickers, and when she insists that we still have more, and when I’m ready to swear on my crooked yellow teeth that I don’t, my friend says, “Oops! I do have one more. This one’s for you to keep.”
And the romantic music begins to play in the background, and he reaches into his backpack in slow motion, and he pulls out the biggest sticker of them all. But this one isn’t a surf sticker, and this one he didn’t steal from the store.
“Officer, no woman your age should need to wear braces. You look ridiculous, and we kind of don’t take you seriously when you slobber all over yourself and try to talk all serious to us with a lisp. May I suggest you try this?”
And he hands her a sticker that says, “Invisalign.”
“What’s Invisalign?” She says, receiving her gift.
“Ma’am, Invisalign are invisible braces that you can remove anytime you want. So next time you’re trying to act tough in front of 13 year olds, maybe the kids will respect you a little more if you were wearing Invisalign instead of that bungled mess of wires that make you look like an alien.”
He smiles an innocent smile, and as she reaches down to hug him and thank him for this wonderful gift, she notices on the sticker in small print, “Product coming in 1999.”
“1999? This is 1986. Are you messing with me, kid?”
“No, ma’am. Invisalign has come from the future to save your social life. No adult should be wearing stuff on their teeth like all our friends do. I don’t imagine you get a lot of dates looking like that.”
“How do you know so much about the future?”
“We’re kids. We know that stuff. Technology and science and medicine and other fancy stuff is a lot better in the future.”
The cop seems to ponder the future for a moment, before looking down at the Invisalign sticker and breaking into a giant, appreciative metal smile.
“You’re right, I don’t get a lot of dates. But with Invisalign I will.”
And as the happy music fades in, me and my friend and the cop turn toward the camera and smile. Magically, the cop’s teeth no longer are filled with metal. They’re perfectly straight and white, just like you would expect from an infomercial.
The scene fades out, and a strange object that looks an awful lot like a UFO is seen off in the distance.
Disclosure: This post is part of the editorial plan between Aiming Low and Invisalign. While the content is sponsored, the opinions belong to the writers.
About Jared Karol
