The Main Alien i.e. 'Mother Brain'

"Dude," she blasted him, "you can't just walk into a workplace and start harassing employees with shit about aliens existing."

"But they do exist," wheezed Norman.

She gripped the report of the afternoon with her claw-like fist. Why do women do that to their hands, wondered Norman. The red polish. Looks like it crawled out of a lagoon. Alien hands. "Look. I know what happened," she went on. "I know you saw the tv show, and were heavily enthused, but come on Norman - leave it at home, okay? It's like religion, you know? You don't bring that up in the workplace, because it will mess everything up."

Norman nodded. "Yes ... yes, I see now. Kind of like a social ... taboo."

"People come here to earn their livings, ok? It's their bread and butter. What they are doing over here is a contribution toward their need to feed themselves, and their families. Think about it."

Norman smiled wisely back at his boss. He thought about it for a moment, and it was all true, what she was saying. Must seem so ... rude. An insult. "Insult to the breadwinner," he said, aloud, suddenly.

"Yes, Norman. You are interrupting the breadwinner." She sighed. "Here, look at it like this. The breadwinner is kind of like the gorilla, yeah?"

"Yep."

"And you, are like the thoughtless tourist who jumps in and tries shoving a stick into its butt, with all your talk about aliens. Now how do you think that the gorilla will respond?"

"It will be startled, at first," replied Norman, carefully following along like a trapeze artist on a thin thread.

"Yes. As has happened," she said, indicating the office in general with her hand.

"Then, instinctive responses will take hold," continued Norman, now getting with the program, "a sort of primal urge to defend its territory. Or ... butt, in this case."

"Gorillas are known not to tolerate much prodding," she agreed, placing a comforting hand on Norman's back.

"It will then attack, savagely. With it's vicious gorilla claws."

He was starting to understand, and she nodded, bringing him round the corner slow and steady. "In this case, Norman, the vicious attacks come in the form of anonymous reports in the Suggestion Box." She pulled out her folder of Suggestion Box tickets.

"No," said Norman, actually shrinking into his lab coat. "I don't want to see."

"Look at it Norman," she said forcefully. "This is what they really think of you, in secret."

His knees gave, and he collapsed onto the floor. "No!" he yelled, his arm straining out to ward off the anonymous tickets, in vain.

She looked dispassionately at the curled figure. "Get up, Norman."

He turned his face, and looked back at her through beady, slitted eyes. "I knew it," he said, seething, trembling. "You're the main one. The main alien. The Mother Brain."