Humans are Weird - Thinking Pants
Commander Pulp woke from a delicious dream of eating a giant loaf of the richest bread when the steady thumping of a distant mill grew discordant. As the layers of haze cleared from his mind he realized that the sound was not a part of the dream at all, but came from outside his sleeping chamber. He reached over to nudge his sleep companion, only to find empty space and heaved a sigh. On such a thinly operated base it was no surprise that it was a struggle to find sleeping companions with truly compatible schedules, but it was still annoying to fall asleep with a comforting presence by your side only to wake up cold and alone. Commander Pulp gave a leisurely stretch and scented the air. The clock was filling the air with the first scents of dew, and none of the harsher volatiles that would wake him, so he didn’t technically have to be up for some time. He might try to get back to sleep and finish that dream loaf.
However he did feel fully rested and that odd thumping was going on outside his door, so he let himself slither off of his sleeping rock and onto the cool floor. The change in temperature on his paws sent a shiver through his scutes and he held his belly off the floor as he moved to the bathroom and began scrubbing his scales over the wall mounted brushes. A little detail work on his claws and snout and he felt himself ready to face whatever the early morning might bring. He exited his door and followed the thumping to the main corridor where the three humans currently assigned to the base were carrying massive bags of grain towards the main lab, and empty bags away. They seemed focused, expect for the new female, one Private Johnson, who was wearing clothing that was far too lose to be safe around machinery, and was moving with less coordination than the other two indicating that she had been roused from sleep for whatever emergency required the oddly timed loading of the grain.
Commander Pulp considered going to the lab to see what was wrong, it could not be anything too serious or he would have been deliberately woken, but decided that the current crew looked like they had it under their talon, and furthermore that he had no desire to cross the paths of the giant lumbering mammals carrying their mass in dead weight. So he scooted along the wall until he reached his office and pulled up a display. The lab in question had initiated a request for a test run of the new grinding system, however instead a test run being recorded, a full run had been. This had been followed by an emergency request for human support, to which all three humans had responded promptly. The grinder was now running an experimental load set to the smallest pre-determined load size.
Commander Pulp gave a yawn and made note to investigate the rather disturbing fact that the new grinding system could not, or at least could not easily and intuitively be shut off once initiated, a serious failure that needed to be addressed, in its due time, and settled down to watch the chaos with mild interest. He reached into a drawer for his special loaf stash, a bit of a let-down after that dream-loaf, and began chewing placidly. The grinder finished it’s predetermined cycle and the thumping from the corridor slowed down and stopped. The request for aid was canceled and Commander Pulp trotted out to observe the humans, mildly curious as to how they would handle this tail-tip of an emergency.
Grimes and the other human who had presumably been awake on night shift were standing together chatting lightly about end of shift duties and potentially getting a hot drink together when the other human, still in her too-loose for work clothing came out of the lab with a large yawn, holding a final empty grain sack loosely in one hand.
“Johnson!” Grimes called out cheerfully, “what to join us for some knock-off coffee like product?”
The female human stared blankly at the other two for such a long time that they began to shift uncomfortably, before she vigorously shook her head and gave another gaping yawn. Commander Pulp firmly tapped down the thought that humans were so cute when they gave their tiny yawns with their little mouths. Experience with Grimes had taught him that that was not an appreciated sentiment.
“Can’t do brain things in sleep pants,” Johnson muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Ask when the thinking pants are on.”
With that cryptic remark she turned and began to tramp back towards her quarters, presumably to find and put on her ‘thinking pants’ while the other two human laughed in amusement.
Commander Pulp darted forward eagerly to catch Grimes’s attention before he turned his mind back to his previous conversation.
“Commander,” Grimes greeted him with a tired smile. “Bit of a fracas this morning.”
“Yes, yes,” Commander Pulp agreed. “Tell me Grimes, I just overheard a bit of your conversation with Private Johnson, did she just imply that her thought processes are impacted by what clothing she wears?”
Grimes blinked in surprise and then nodded.
“You know this one though,” he said.
“I assure you,” Commander Pulp said, rocking back on his hind legs to make sure Grimes was aware of having his full attention, “I have never heard of thinking pants.”
“That is just Johnson’s special form of it,” Grimes said with a dismissive wave of a long hand. “You know how you guys can sleep anywhere really, but you prefer a nice rock nest, and a sleeping companion, and a blanket or two when it’s cold?”
Commander Pulp considered this and then bobbed his snout in a human ‘nod’.
“You are referring to the psychological benefits of crafting an ideal nest to sleep in,” he said.
Grimes and the other night shift human nodded in tandem, both smiling.
“For some humans the special clothes are a terribly important part of the nest,” Grimes explained. “Johnson, I am assuming from what I say, mind I never actually discussed this with her, uses very loose, soft natural-fiber weaves for her, let’s call them nest clothes, so these prime her brain for a sleep cycle. Then the coarser, tighter clothes of her uniform for instance prime her brain for thinking and working.”
“So in order to answer you question she needs her thinking pants,” Commander Pulp said. “Fascinating, to wear a part of one’s sleeping nest on your body.”
“Yup,” the other human said with a yawn. “Ya’ know what though Grimes? I think I’m gonna change my mind about that cup of fake coffee and go to my sleeping nest. This was a beauty of a topper for a long shift and I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Do you too wear sleeping pants?” Commander Pulp asked.
The human laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t wear no pants for sleep,” he said, “like you lizard folk I prefer to keep my nest in one place and not wear it around on me. Night.”
With that the human turned and wandered off. Commander Pulp turned to Grimes with interest.
“I used to sleep nude,” Grimes informed him, seeming to intuit his question. “But aliens with scales and claws kept climbing into my bed at all hours so I switched to long pajamas.”
“That happened once,” Commander Pulp said with an annoyed huff.
Grimes rolled his eyes in that disconcerting way humans had.
“Once with you,” he corrected.
The floor began to vibrate with the approach of Johnson, presumably in her ‘thinking pants’ and Commander Pulp turned his attention from the now rather annoying conversation to determine what the practical difference was between the two clothing types.
However he did feel fully rested and that odd thumping was going on outside his door, so he let himself slither off of his sleeping rock and onto the cool floor. The change in temperature on his paws sent a shiver through his scutes and he held his belly off the floor as he moved to the bathroom and began scrubbing his scales over the wall mounted brushes. A little detail work on his claws and snout and he felt himself ready to face whatever the early morning might bring. He exited his door and followed the thumping to the main corridor where the three humans currently assigned to the base were carrying massive bags of grain towards the main lab, and empty bags away. They seemed focused, expect for the new female, one Private Johnson, who was wearing clothing that was far too lose to be safe around machinery, and was moving with less coordination than the other two indicating that she had been roused from sleep for whatever emergency required the oddly timed loading of the grain.
Commander Pulp considered going to the lab to see what was wrong, it could not be anything too serious or he would have been deliberately woken, but decided that the current crew looked like they had it under their talon, and furthermore that he had no desire to cross the paths of the giant lumbering mammals carrying their mass in dead weight. So he scooted along the wall until he reached his office and pulled up a display. The lab in question had initiated a request for a test run of the new grinding system, however instead a test run being recorded, a full run had been. This had been followed by an emergency request for human support, to which all three humans had responded promptly. The grinder was now running an experimental load set to the smallest pre-determined load size.
Commander Pulp gave a yawn and made note to investigate the rather disturbing fact that the new grinding system could not, or at least could not easily and intuitively be shut off once initiated, a serious failure that needed to be addressed, in its due time, and settled down to watch the chaos with mild interest. He reached into a drawer for his special loaf stash, a bit of a let-down after that dream-loaf, and began chewing placidly. The grinder finished it’s predetermined cycle and the thumping from the corridor slowed down and stopped. The request for aid was canceled and Commander Pulp trotted out to observe the humans, mildly curious as to how they would handle this tail-tip of an emergency.
Grimes and the other human who had presumably been awake on night shift were standing together chatting lightly about end of shift duties and potentially getting a hot drink together when the other human, still in her too-loose for work clothing came out of the lab with a large yawn, holding a final empty grain sack loosely in one hand.
“Johnson!” Grimes called out cheerfully, “what to join us for some knock-off coffee like product?”
The female human stared blankly at the other two for such a long time that they began to shift uncomfortably, before she vigorously shook her head and gave another gaping yawn. Commander Pulp firmly tapped down the thought that humans were so cute when they gave their tiny yawns with their little mouths. Experience with Grimes had taught him that that was not an appreciated sentiment.
“Can’t do brain things in sleep pants,” Johnson muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Ask when the thinking pants are on.”
With that cryptic remark she turned and began to tramp back towards her quarters, presumably to find and put on her ‘thinking pants’ while the other two human laughed in amusement.
Commander Pulp darted forward eagerly to catch Grimes’s attention before he turned his mind back to his previous conversation.
“Commander,” Grimes greeted him with a tired smile. “Bit of a fracas this morning.”
“Yes, yes,” Commander Pulp agreed. “Tell me Grimes, I just overheard a bit of your conversation with Private Johnson, did she just imply that her thought processes are impacted by what clothing she wears?”
Grimes blinked in surprise and then nodded.
“You know this one though,” he said.
“I assure you,” Commander Pulp said, rocking back on his hind legs to make sure Grimes was aware of having his full attention, “I have never heard of thinking pants.”
“That is just Johnson’s special form of it,” Grimes said with a dismissive wave of a long hand. “You know how you guys can sleep anywhere really, but you prefer a nice rock nest, and a sleeping companion, and a blanket or two when it’s cold?”
Commander Pulp considered this and then bobbed his snout in a human ‘nod’.
“You are referring to the psychological benefits of crafting an ideal nest to sleep in,” he said.
Grimes and the other night shift human nodded in tandem, both smiling.
“For some humans the special clothes are a terribly important part of the nest,” Grimes explained. “Johnson, I am assuming from what I say, mind I never actually discussed this with her, uses very loose, soft natural-fiber weaves for her, let’s call them nest clothes, so these prime her brain for a sleep cycle. Then the coarser, tighter clothes of her uniform for instance prime her brain for thinking and working.”
“So in order to answer you question she needs her thinking pants,” Commander Pulp said. “Fascinating, to wear a part of one’s sleeping nest on your body.”
“Yup,” the other human said with a yawn. “Ya’ know what though Grimes? I think I’m gonna change my mind about that cup of fake coffee and go to my sleeping nest. This was a beauty of a topper for a long shift and I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Do you too wear sleeping pants?” Commander Pulp asked.
The human laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t wear no pants for sleep,” he said, “like you lizard folk I prefer to keep my nest in one place and not wear it around on me. Night.”
With that the human turned and wandered off. Commander Pulp turned to Grimes with interest.
“I used to sleep nude,” Grimes informed him, seeming to intuit his question. “But aliens with scales and claws kept climbing into my bed at all hours so I switched to long pajamas.”
“That happened once,” Commander Pulp said with an annoyed huff.
Grimes rolled his eyes in that disconcerting way humans had.
“Once with you,” he corrected.
The floor began to vibrate with the approach of Johnson, presumably in her ‘thinking pants’ and Commander Pulp turned his attention from the now rather annoying conversation to determine what the practical difference was between the two clothing types.
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