‘The Welcome Mat’ is conspicuous, to say the least- visible from a long ways away. How long? I haven’t done the work on that and neither has Shitholes, really. Hills crop up to the south, so it’s probably bright as hell for people who live up on the hillsides facing it. Probably mostly obscured for everyone past that. The terrain is otherwise flat and I’d guess ‘The Welcome Mat’ can be seen for as far as the flatness holds, if not as a distinct facility then at least as a neon horizon.
From space?
‘No, ‘The Welcome Mat’ cannot be seen from space. Not regularly, anyway. There was a week in 2017 during which ‘The Welcome Mat’ powered an array of skyward-facing layers which blipped on and off in a pattern that, according to the owners, indicated proof of humanity’s understanding of fundamental mathematics and, therefore, intelligence. The array itself was the much-delayed product of a moderately successful crowdfunding drive several years prior. It was deactivated a week later following a stern warning from the FAA (though the owner prefers the more ambiguous ‘federal agents’ in recounting the ordeal).
In defense of the owner, visitors have noted the on-and-off presence of ambiguous government official types over the years, sometimes in uniform and other times in half-hearted disguises. In fairness to the government officials, undercover or otherwise, the owner of ‘The Welcome Mat’ is said to activate the laser at random and for such short bursts that the FAA isn’t reliably able to prove anything- not with the current budget anyway.
‘The Welcome Mat’ is outwardly a 24/7 laundromat. Its machines are overpriced and the business does little to conceal that its passion lies elsewhere. The clothes-cleaning is merely ‘The Welcome Mat’s’ strategy for keeping the lights on- and there are many, many lights to power. Visible from miles around (and, intermittently, from space) one might assume that alien visitors sophisticated enough to travel between galaxies would have the sense to avoid a place as welcoming as ‘The Welcome Mat’ seems to be. Any civilization sufficiently advanced will recognize and avoid a try-hard.’
‘Try-hard’ doesn’t begin to describe ‘The Welcome Mat,’ unfortunately. The sheer wanting in it is difficult to convey There are the lights, of course, which might be forgiven for all that they attract tourists. The building is trimmed in that shade of neon blue that’s difficult to look at directly. The windows are framed in bright red. Plasticky human statues crowd the roof, holding lanterns or reaching up to the sky in welcome. Searchlights whirl and crisscross at ‘The Welcome Mat’s’ corners. Their pattern terminates on the landing strip nearby- beckoning.
The landing strip is an uncanny slice of daylight past dark. It radiates heat and gathers smoking insect corpses. The asphalt is painted with a scrolling, upside-down message.
‘WE WELCOME YOU TO EARTH! PLEASE FORGIVE US OUR WARS AND CRIMES WE ARE LEARNING STILL. WE ARE NOT LIKE YOU BUT WE ARE PEACEFUL. LAND HERE AND YOU WILL BE SAFE. NO GOVERNMENT, HUMAN OR ALIEN, WILL REACH YOU HERE.’
There is evidence that the message glows in the dark, in case the lights fail.
The inside of ‘The Welcome Mat’ is humid and thick enough with the smell of detergent that Hector mostly chooses to remain in his kennel, nestled head-first into the blankets there. Framed headlines regarding alien abductions are tacked along the walls and many are accompanied by shelves with objects that, presumably, have been recovered from these incidents. The owners of ‘The Welcome Mat’ have cast a wide net, collecting everything from mildly radiated glass cookware to pieces of decommissioned war planes. There is a collection of hair, taken from willing abductees. There is a small library, free to peruse while one’s clothes dry. I want to look more closely at all of this but get the sense that every one of the six other customers is analyzing me when my back is turned, trying to decide whether I’m for the cause or against it- whether I’m alien-friendly or a government plant.
The catalyst for this paranoia is a sign posted at the door. It’s a list of weapons, mostly guns, and it begins with the words: ‘To whom it may concern.’ A not-so-concealed threat, controversial online for its ambiguity. Some die-hard ufologists believe the actual intent of ‘The Welcome Mat’ is not at all peaceful and that the sign is subtle indication of the owner’s arsenal, to be counted upon in case a hostile alien lifeform took the facility up on its seeming naivety. Others insist it is a warning to the agents- an indication of what they might expect to face were they to attempt anything more than a quick wash of their all-black wardrobes.
The tension is thick enough that I try to find some means of speeding up the wash and, failing that, likely seem more suspicious for all of my pacing and for the frantic way in which I take in ‘The Welcome Mat’s’ abduction paraphernalia, switching between approving nods and disbelieving frowns based on the nearness of other patrons and my own amateurish read of their potential affiliations. They mostly keep their distance, though I catch one man waving some sort of beeping instrument near Hector’s kennel. Noticing my notice, the man walks out the door and leaves his churning washer of black suits to mildew at the end of the cycle.
I’ll say this about ‘The Welcome Mat:’ it’s reasonably easy to tell we’re followed on the way out- a parade of black sedans that switch off their headlights each time I pull the bike over to let them pass and disappear into the Wayside via indistinct service roads as soon as it’s clear I won’t be coming back.
-traveler
