An Alien Encounter

Barry Mills has a PhD, but when I meet him he is washing dishes for seven dollars an hour.

Barry is...what's the word...different.

He stands out, even in a town noted for UFO enthusiasts. It could be his posh British accent. Or his unusually diverse vocabulary. Or his long lanky frame.

More than likely, it is because he has braided his beard so that several long straight patches of hair dangle from his chin.

"When I came here from Britain, I was an illegal alien. Now, you'll notice," he remarks as he flips his mop to the side and gestures to his Little Alienn shirt, apron, and trademark beard, "I've become a different type of alien altogether."

Rachel is hosting a "midnight marathon" where hundreds of people gather to run twenty-six miles in the darkness of the Nevada desert. In anticipation of the increased business, the staff of the Little Alienn are hustling around the kitchen in preparation.

Pat, the owner, is busy showing newcomer Barry how to flip the eggs in a skillet. Since she and her daughter were so nice as to comp me a room for two nights, I feel it only fair to offer my services. Barry asks how good I am at washing dishes.

"I'm reasonably competent."

"Great. Now you can practice on these and become brilliant at it."

I ask Barry why he finds himself in the small town of Rachel.

"I actually came here at night the first time. I drove past the town and set up camp further up the road. The next morning when I woke up, I swung the back doors of my van open, looked down upon Rachel, and said to myself, This...This is where I must live."

Barry is very entertaining to talk to. It is clear that Barry enjoys discussing everything from homelessness to the intricacies of French vocabulary, but before we are ever able to get too deep into a discussion, he makes sure to turn his focus back to the work at hand.

Looking at the pile of dishes I have stacked on the drying table, he grabs a bowl and turns it upside down.

"What might be more immediately apparent to the non-collegiate mind," he offers, "is that the bowls will dry much faster this way."

"That's the nicest way anyone has ever called me educated but stupid."

"Well, if you understood, I guess you couldn't be that stupid."

Before I leave Rachel, I ask Barry what he has found throughout his travels.

"I've found that eighty-five percent of the human race is selfish, loathsome and despicable; that they'll do anything to help themselves. But that the other fifteen percent are the exact opposite; absolutely wonderful and selfless. There is no middle ground."

"What else have you learned about life?"

"Never underestimate the importance of raspberries and custard."

This is what he writes on my van when his shift slows down. As he is doing so, I remark how much I respect his willingness to do work for scratch in the name of adventure. This leads to a discussion about his wife, who works as a lawyer.

"She's fifteen years younger than me, so she hasn't come around to the idea that spending her life behind a desk might not be the best use of her time."

He tells me that he and his wife get to spend about fifteen weeks a year together, but that hopefully that will increase in the future.

"She's come around a little to my style of living... mainly because she loves me. I should go, I think I just heard Pat take an order."

He rushes back into the bar. Before I head out, I give him my business card and thank him for his help.

"I should add one more thing," he notes. "If you ever come across one of the fifteen percent, hold on to that person."

"Oh, and check out BarryMillsPhD.com."

It turns out Barry and I aren't so different after all.