Park the Phone

The disaster unfolded in slow motion.

A Ferengi, a Klingon, a Cardassian  and a Romulan got into their individual vehicles and proceeded to power up their personal communicators.


Enough ... is never enough, thought the Ferengi looking down at his haul of latinum, not bad selling after market mini-communicators to impatient suckers.  Not bad at all.

"Hey, Mordoc," the Ferengi said into his communicator, tucking it under his chin while he adjusted the reverse thrusters, "I'll meet you at Owl Burger in 10.  Set me up with a tall one, some wings and a beer."  The Farengi chortled at his little joke, a tall one, indeed!

The Klingon was in a bad mood, that is to say, normal.  He had been stood up for lunch by Kor'gig but didn't really care because he was able to polish off a double helping of gak, best served warm.  Tucking his communicator under his chin while he adjusted his aft thrusters he left a suitably rude message on Kor'gig's voice mail.  "And your little dog, too!" he concluded, pleased with a human film reference he was sure Kor'gig wouldn't get.  That green witch would be my woman, he thought absently.

The Cardassian slumped into the pilot seat both irritated and pleased with himself;  irritated with his assignment working part-time at a "retail store" and pleased with having set-up his store manager to be accused of embezzlement.  I'll be store manager then, the Cardassian thought, and they will all pay, yes they will all pay.  Tucking his personal communicator under his chin he speed-dialed Gul Prime to make his report.  "On schedule," the Cardassian summarized briefly while optimizing his reversing thrusters, "Gul Ram out."

"Cursed pod doors," muttered the Romulan, snagging the over-sized shoulder pads of his tunic on the frame, "I am definitely going for a mid-size next time."  Firing up the reverse engines, the Romulan pulled out his communicator, pressed the central activator and commanded, "Siri, dial Praetor Timex."

Siri replied, "The times for Predator V are 1:15, 3:00 and 5:30."

The Romulan sighed, looked at the communicator and wondered why he ever left Homeworld.  He moved the aft thruster to one-quarter impulse.

The Cardassian slipped into reverse at one-quarter impulse.

Fighting the urge to jump immediately to warp the Klingon eased back at one-quarter impulse.

Singing "make a profit, make a profit, make a profit I will do my best!" the Feringi happily backed out at one-quarter impulse.

What followed, after the inevitable four-way collision was known as the Great Galactic Mall Parking Lot War consisting of much yelling, screaming, finger pointing and challenges to personal ancestry and threats to small dogs and the horse you rode in on.

It's the only explanation I can offer to watching four cars parked opposite each other, back slowly into each other, at the same time.  All drivers were on their cell phones, there was no real damage and I can only imagine that they are still out there right now yelling at each other.

Me, I'm meeting Mordoc at Owl Burger for a tall one and a beer.  Warp factor 5.  Engage.