'How Does That Plate Not Smash?' by Jessica Woodward

November 14th, Cincinnati. Local journalists go wild for the man with a plate on his head.

He emerges from his house at 7:47 am, smartly attired as befits a management consultant. He seems oblivious to the abnormality of his headgear.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir!” shouts Letitia McNash from OPW Cable 2. She’s supposed to be reporting on a burglary across the road but she finds the man with a plate on his head far more interesting. She lurches toward him in her five-inch beige patent heels, almost ripping stitches in the back of her crimson pencil skirt. Two cameramen galumph behind her.

The management consultant turns to face them. “May I help you? If it’s about the burglary, I’m afraid I was on assignment in Abu Dhabi and missed that unfortunate event.”

One of the cameramen gawps. “Dude, man, how does that plate not smash?”

“Pardon?”

“That plate on your head. Is it, like, stuck on with glue?”

The management consultant raises his hand to his head, puzzled. He strokes the smooth surface of the plate. “If you are making fun of the fact that I have recently gone bald, then I think that’s rather rude of you. But I shall take it in good humour.”

“No, man, you’re not bald. There’s a plate on your head.”

“Is there not a plate on your own head?”

“No!”

“Really? Well, that is interesting. I rather thought we all had objects underneath our hair, waiting to pop out as soon as we reached the undignified age of baldness. Perhaps I’ve been sheltered too long by the bubble of my own species.”

Letitia McNash leans over to whisper to the cameraman, “Hey, give him a break. I think he’s a bit...you know...”

“If you would like to visit my management consultancy firm, Madam, you will notice a wide variety of head-shapes. I assure you, this is not the time for unfounded interspecies stereotyping.”

“Come on, now. Management consultants are not a different species.”

“Not intrinsically, but my species do find consultancy an appealing and worthwhile profession, hence the large number of us who choose to-”

By this time, the sounds of the altercation have reached the ears of reporters from NNX Cable 1, JOF Satellite 4 and Teleshopping Magic 7, who are supposed to be filming tedious things in nearby roads. To enliven their working day, they come jogging round corners, trailing cameras and wires and fluffy microphones.

Their questions accost the management consultant like a flock of angry bats.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Did you mention being a member of a different species?”

“Why would you hoodwink the good Ms McNash with such nonsense?”

“Would you consider endorsing the rejuvenating qualities of the Clean Slate 3 Hair Remover, in an exclusive partnership with Teleshopping Magic 7?”

The management consultant feels the devastating power of his species surge within him like hot sparks.

“NO!” he cries, and the journalists are instantly, irreversibly silenced.