KLINGON AS A SECOND LANGUAGE


One day, years ago in Las Vegas, I decided to take a break from my college studies and go to the Strip. I wanted to check out the new pirate show at the Treasure Island where they have actual pirate ships sail across the front of the hotel and actual pirates battle it out with cannons and sabers and swinging on ropes and shit. One of the ships even sinks right there in front of the hotel! Cool. So, I hopped a bus.

It was a hot late afternoon. I waited 20 minutes for the bus. No water. No A/C. No bench to sit on. No bus stop booth to hide from the sun. You could have played connect the dots with the balls of sweat on my face if they would have just stopped streaming down my neck. When the bus arrived, I was relieved. Finally! The doors opened and I flung myself in.

I paid my fare and thanked the driver. Eager to get off my feet, I turned around to look for an open seat. My heart stopped. Every seat was taken. No, not only was every seat taken, but every seat was taken by a Klingon. That’s right, Klingons were on that bus. How many? Like, all of them.

I thought about backing slowly off the bus, but the driver suddenly closed the doors and hit the gas. Shit. I was being kidnapped by a bunch of Klingons on public transportation. You just can’t make this shit up, man.

“You’re going to have to find a seat, sir,” said the driver.

I looked at the driver. “What...You're driving a bus and you're fucking blind?" I felt like saying it, but I didn’t. He might have been half Klingie or something, and I didn’t want to take my chances. I took a deep breath and forced myself to move down the narrow aisle between the seats. I avoided dozens of legs and feet covered in what I’m sure was the latest in Klingon fashion: boots with horns and studs and gadgets, leather pants with what looked like blades strapped to them. I think I stepped on someone’s cape.

Way in the back I found an empty seat. Of course, there was a Klingon sitting in the seat next to it. He, she, it stared at me a moment. I looked away, searching for another seat but knowing full well that that seat was the only one available. I was already at the back of the bus. Where was I going to go? So I looked back at the seat. The Klingon grimaced, or smiled--I couldn’t tell what it was exactly because his, her, its forehead and nose were wrinkled permanently into place.

I sat down, compactly. The bus moved along for a little while and nothing happened. Suddenly, the Klingon wanted to communicate with me. He, she, it gave me an inquisitive look.

“Hey there,” I said. “Vacationing?”

“nuqneH!” it bellowed. (Roughly translated as “Hello,” but it’s closer to “What do you want?”)

“Uh, so… Okay…” (Exactly translated as "What the fuck?")

“qaStaH nuq.” (What’s happening?)

“Huh?”

“qaStaH nuq,” it said again.

“Listen, I’m not a…a Klingon...sir, ma’am? I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“yIDoghQo'.” (Don’t be silly!) It did that grimacing smile thing again. “Ah, spek some Englash, I do!”

“Ah, well that’s wonderful. Just wonderful.”

Others of its kind began to take interest in our conversation. They were turning around in their seats and looking at us. I looked out the window and wondered how much longer it would be to my stop. I considered getting out a little early.

“You learn Klingon!” One of the bigger ones shouted from a couple seats away. “Come with us!”

“Oh no, I’m busy. And, I don’t see much use for Klingon, uh, on this planet. But thank you.”

There was that uncomfortable silence that you hate when two people have just met but have nothing to say to each other. Except in this case, I was wondering just how serious these people were about being Klingons. I mean, in the Star Trek shows, aren’t Klingons merciless warriors or something? Don’t they kill things they don’t like? Drink blood, collect skulls, and all that?

“So, are all of you part of some convention or social-psycho study or something?” I tried to deliver the question with a warm, friendly smile. I didn’t get any in return, though.

A few of them started talking in their own language. Others turned around, seemingly finished with me. My little neighbor, however, was not finished with me.

“Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam.” (Today is a good day to die.)

“Sure, sounds like fun.” I had no idea what it was saying to me, but I couldn’t stop the flow of feeling a little sinister at this point.

“bIjatlh 'e' yImev. naDevvo' yIghoS.” (Shut up! Go away!) And it pushed me a little out of my seat.

“Hey, now! I don’t know how Klingons flirt, but on this planet, buddy, pushing is considered a little rude.”

We had a short staring contest. I don’t think Klingons even have eye lids.

We arrived at my stop. I stood up. They all watched as I moved to the rear doors and exited. I stood on the edge of the street and waved as they peered at me through the windows of the bus. I walked over to the Treasure Island hotel and watched the pirate show. Somehow, it just wasn’t as interesting as I thought it would be.


(Did you know that there is actually a Klingon Language Institute? What a crazy little world we live on.)



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