Stop Accusing Me of Prejudice!
“Ayleep, all I did was state a simple fact about the hyoomans from… what’s it called?”
“Erth. It’s called Erth. We had a perfect chance to meet one of them, but no, you’re so sure something is wrong with them. You’ve always got some reason to put down every new species. Stop it!”
“Oh, you’re going to accuse me of prejudice again. Here we go.”
“I love meeting new people. I’m open to seeing their inner beauty no matter their defects on the outside. Where did you come up with that supposed fact anyway?”
“Let me run a search. There! There! I was right. They’re the only sentient species in the galaxy that smells bad and walks around messy after it drops a turd if it doesn’t clean itself well enough.”
“Please!”
“I’m serious. They have a special paper just to deal with wet, gooey, stinky, brown stuff smeared all over their skin. None of them have the slightest idea how to push out a civilized dry pellet.”
“Of all the facts you could bring up, why that? The hyooman at the spaceport gate looked very nice. No mess. No smell.”
“Fine, Ayleep, that one probably cleaned itself well enough today. If we run into any more of them, you can take a sniff and check for a stain and then give me an all-clear if it’s safe.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“No, really, we can work out a signal. How about this? Hold your tentacle this way. Ha ha ha.”
“Okay, I ran a search of my own. It says here, most of them wipe themselves pretty well.”
“My turn. Fact number two. A lot of the male hyoomans don’t even wash their hands after they pee.”
“Really? Let me see that.”
“It was discovered by a business called Fairchild Semiconductor. They ended up hiring mostly female assemblers because uric acid on male hands made their chips explode.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to blame all of them.”
“I don’t, Ayleep. I’m even open to making friends with one of the clean ones so long as it’s a female.”
“Well, just don’t bring it up every time we see one of them.”
“Let’s make a deal. I’ll stop bringing it up, and you won’t make me eat lunch at a place where one of them is handling the food. Not even if there’s a sign on the bathroom wall reminding them to clean themselves.”
For anyone new to my writing, this is where I analyze the moral of my story. That could irritate some people. Feel free to stop here.
If I was in charge of reality in this galaxy or the next, the last thing I would do is hide beauty. Prejudice hides the beauty of both the target and the bigot.
What’s the point of hidden beauty? Why would anyone cover their light with a bushel or bury a chest full of pretty gold coins?
Well, maybe life is meant to be a game of hide and seek. If we all just stood around gaping in awe at the glorious beauty of one another’s souls, we might want to face a challenge after a while.
Misinformation, including exaggeration, is a challenge to meaningful connection with other souls. Marriage may be another barrier, judging by the divorce rate. Wars, workplace competition, bureaucracy, and political opinions are other useful ways to replace a sense of profound interpersonal communion with outraged alienation.
Maybe the best seekers will earn prizes in the afterlife. If my life challenge was to find the beauty in a world-class bigot like Hitler, I’d cheat. Somewhere in the block multiverse, he’s a baby. He would look so cute with that little mustache. I’d find that version of him and hug him.
Just remember, the game is hide and seek, not hide and humiliate. To win, you must find the hidden beauty, not kill, cross, cuckold, or castrate the one who is hiding underneath real or imagined ugliness. That’s especially true when seeking your true self.
