Save Some Space for Dessert
By caribou_
- 198 reads
Buzz was sure he was going to be sick.
He looked across the huge expanse of the Great Hall and took in the perfect tables and folded napkins, the great big black and white shots of the Apollo 11 crew, including the iconic image of his namesake Buzz Aldrin, and under the heat of the spotlights thought - ‘I’m going to throw up’.
The sudden wave of nausea that hit him was so overwhelming, he reached out desperately for an empty ice bucket before noticing a member of the waiting staff watching him. With a huge effort and feeling his face flush, he managed to push the feeling away and put the bucket back in place on the bar.
He walked out of the hall and back to the green room, where his things were, and most importantly, the cue cards for his speech. ‘One more run-through' he thought ‘that should help.’
His face still looked flushed in the mirror and he would never get used to wearing a Prada suit, even at the grand old age of 48. He straightened his tie, met his own eye in the mirror, took a deep breath and picked up the cards.
“On the 24th July 1969, my newly married, 18-year-old parents were watching the BBC all-night broadcast - the first of its kind - of the Apollo 11 moon landing on a black and white Radio Rentals TV, which cost them 18 shillings a week.”
“My Dad was obsessed. He immediately become a space travel devotee. Or an ‘effing fanatic’, as my Mum used to call him. And he loved, loved, loved Buzz Aldrin. Loved the fact he was born in Essex County, New Jersey and we were living in Harlow, in the county of Essex, back in the UK. Loved the fact he privately took Holy Communion on the moon. And loved the fact he suffered from sea sickness, which was something Dad could relate to, having been on a boat once and vowing ‘never again’ because he felt so dreadful!”
“My Dad loved Buzz Aldrin so much, that when I arrived 10 years after the Apollo 11 moon landing, on exactly the same day – 24th July 1979 - Dad was adamant that they would call me Buzz.”
“Growing up in Harlow with a name like Buzz wasn’t easy! For those not in the know, Harlow is a fairly rough town about 30 miles north of London, built a couple of years after the end of World War II, under the New Towns Act 1946.”
“Just last year, in 2026, Harlow had the worst crime rate in Esse - 156 crimes per 1000 people and was the second most dangerous town in the county.”
“And even back when I was a kid and a teenager in the 80s and 90s, the crime rate might not have been as high, but school was rough, kids were tough and a ‘stupid Yank name’ like Buzz would get you a beating. Or a cute nickname like ‘Bell-end Buzz from Busheycroft’, which was the road me and my parents lived on.”
Buzz put the cards down. When he’d been writing and re-writing them out, slightly manically with a Sharpie in his office at home, it had felt like he was striking the right balance of context, his personal history and vulnerability. Now he was looking at them again, it just seemed like a load of waffle.
He was a ‘details’ sort of bloke. He’d been a details sort of kid too. A geek. That’s what the bullies had a field day with, as well as his name. The posters in his room had been blu-tacked up precisely one centimeter apart. The glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling had been fastidiously arranged to include the Plough constellation at the centre. And he’d been so proud of that.
Now, here he was, ‘Bell-end Buzz’, about to launch a high-end vegan food range for the newest commercial spaceflight company on the block, Cosmos Aeronautics - the first to include a one-hour ‘Float-Down Meal’ during the period when passengers were weightless.
‘Remember your USP’ he murmured to himself.
Because the truth was, he had become just as much of an ‘effing fanatic’ as his Dad. A ‘lunar loony’, ‘moon madman’ or ‘space spastic’, which was one of the more unkind nicknames he’d earnt in school in the 1980s – he’d left that one off the cue cards – it offended him for a totally different reason today than it had back then.
The point was, he was totally, hopelessly devoted to Apollo 11, just like his old man.
So much so that his product range was based on the original 1969 space food eaten by the crew of Apollo 11, bolstered by dessert choices and a spin on a ‘Space Cookie’.
He’d been prepared for the first iteration of the range to absolutely bomb when they took it to a test market. But it hadn’t!
At the zero-gravity simulator they had booked for all 6 test audiences, not only had each group scored the taste and experience highly on the testing criteria, but they’d loved the fun of recreating exactly what the astronauts had done on board the Apollo Lunar Module Eagle.
This included using what was called a ‘Spoon-Bowl’ (a flexible plastic container with dehydrated food inside), which the crew had injected water into using a water gun to rehydrate the food.
A water gun! Buzz had managed to wangle a partnership with Nerf to produce a bespoke SuperSoaker, which passengers were allowed to keep after their flight ended. And the SuperSoaker brand was a nice little connection to his whole vision, given that NASA engineer Lonnie Johnson designed the first prototype in his basement in 1982. When he’d sealed that particular deal, he’d wished more than ever that he had someone other than his parents to tell.
Anyway, it was also high scores all round on the ‘nostalgia’ section of the feedback survey. He’d worked with a designer to include original NASA photos within the table (and handrails) which passengers would dine at. They’d included a selection which included Buzz Aldrin descending the lunar module ladder and President Nixon greeting the astronauts on their return.
Somehow these images had seemed to successfully stir up some sort of cultural, shared memory amongst the test audience, regardless of their age, nationality, ethnicity, gender or any other demographic cut you wanted to make on the data.
The success of the test marketing trials had meant that Michael Kelley, CEO of Cosmos Aeronautics and his particularly tough Board of Directors had given Buzz the green light for his final – and most importantly vegan – menu.
Buzz flicked ahead through the cue cards and pulled out the one with the menu items listed.
He read aloud from the card:
“Our menu captures all the flavours, textures and experience of the original 1969 menu, which saw Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin enjoy beef and vegetables, pork and potato scallops and bacon and apple sauce, not to mention butterscotch pudding, rice pudding and space cookies.”
“Fast-forward to today and we’re offering an all-vegan menu in keeping with the fact that the newly-released 2027 EcoWatch Vegan Impact Report says there are now 500 million of us doing our best to make a positive change with what we eat to help this little blue planet we call home.”
“And we’re coupling that original 1969 menu with some of the world’s most unique, expensive and exhilarating accompaniments.”
“So tonight, I’m thrilled that you’ll be asked to select your favourites from an amazing menu. Earlier this evening I tried (for the 100th time if I’m honest!) the Beyond Beef – a mix of pea protein, rice protein, potato starch and pomegranate extract, served with hop shoots and pink radicchio.”
“I followed that with our very special rice pudding made with Kinmemai Premium rice and served with Dutriez hand-seeded red currant jam.”
Buzz laid the card back down. He’d wanted something physical, tactile that he could hold in his hands this evening – a security blanket. Despite the venue having a strict ‘autocue-only’ policy, he’d written the cards out one final time this afternoon and now he slipped them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, knowing they’d bring him some comfort just by being there.
There was a knock at his door.
“Hello hello? 10 minutes to go Mr. Bishop – are you ready?”
It was a super enthusiastic young woman called Madison who worked at the venue on her breaks from college. She was incredibly beautiful and his teenage insecurities lurched to the surface as she smiled at him. Who the hell did he think he was in this Prada suit? Silly haircut, skinny arms, a stupid-space-geek-man-child.
‘Stop. It! Stop it Buzz’ he commanded himself and tried to swallow the gnawing nausea.
“Yep, I think I’m ready Madison. Thank you.”
“Great, so everyone is seated already, your parents are at the table to your left as you look out from the stage, and Michael and the Board of Directors are to the right.”
“Great, thanks – were Mum and Dad OK when they arrived?”
“They were fine, your Dad had a smile SO wide – it was SO cute – and your Mom cried when she saw the hall and the stage. Aww!”
They reached the side of the stage and he looked out to see his Mum and Dad looking small and out of place at their table. His Dad was wearing the replica Apollo astronaut spacesuit that he’d scrimped and saved to have custom-made about 10 years back. His Mum was wearing her best, black, sparkly George at Asda dress, at least 20 years old and a firm favourite at family birthday parties, Christmas Day and lunches out.
“Ok time to get up there Mr. Bishop – good luck!”
He walked out and fleetingly; a flash of Steve Jobs came into his head. That classic image of him at the latest Apple product launch, black turtleneck, blue jeans, specs and stubble, smiling broadly.
The nausea was back with a bang and he half-wished he’d done a shot of something back in the green room to take the edge off.
‘Too late’ he thought and placed his hands on either side of the podium, then leaned slightly into the microphone.
“Good evening ladies, gentlemen and honoured guests and a huge welcome to you all on this wonderful night here in Houston.”
“Before we get to the part I know everyone’s most excited about – who doesn’t love a free meal ay?”
There was a patter of polite laughter in the auditorium.
‘Fuck has that made me look common? Or tight? Or poor?’ he thought but ploughed on.
“I wanted to tell you a little bit about my journey, the journey of this product and the story of my wonderful parents, who I am absolutely thrilled to have with us here this evening.”
He gestured down to the table where his Mum was sheepishly nodding and smiling and his Dad was sitting bolt upright, chest puffed out, waving and beaming, as everyone around them clapped.
On the autocue, the words he’d read a thousand times began to pan up into his sight line:
“On the 24th July 1969, my newly married, 18-year-old parents were watching the BBC all-night broadcast - the first of its kind - of the Apollo 11 moon landing...”
10 minutes later and he’d got through it – he couldn’t believe it. He looked down again at his parents, bursting with pride and then across at the Board of Directors, and was surprised to see Michael, the CEO, getting up from his seat and making his way to the stage, as the applause continued.
As he got closer, Michael gestured and pointed for Buzz to stay put, then climbed up the stairs, giving a slow clap and grinning.
“Good evening folks, good evening. I know you're all feeling pumped to choose from our amazing menu and get to taste these fine products Buzz has been talking about but before we do – we have a very special surprise in our agenda for this evening.”
“Buzz, could you please go get your father and bring him up here? Go, go, go, go, go!” he said, laughing and shooing Michael down the other set of stairs from the stage to his parents table.
“Now as you folks have heard, Buzz here and his father Robert – Rob, right?”
Michael looked over to Buzz’s Dad for confirmation. He gave a quick nod.
“Right. So, Buzz and Rob can only be described as Apollo 11 devotees - what was it your Mom said Buzz? ‘Effing fanatics’...? I just love that!”
“Well, we thought it only right we recognise this devotion right here this evening and we thought, what better way to do that, than to bring you face to face with the man himself!”
Buzz and his father had reached the podium. The spotlights felt hotter than ever. His father leaned in and whispered “What the fuck is going on Buzz? It can’t bloody well be him can it?”
“So, it gives me great, great pleasure to welcome to the stage, Mr. Buzz Aldrin, Lunar Module Eagle pilot, second man to step foot on the moon, the last surviving crew member of Apollo 11, and at 97 years-old, I’m sure, the oldest and wisest person in this room!”
And suddenly there he was, his face so familiar to Buzz that it was like seeing a favourite uncle, slowly making his way across the stage with the support of a black cane, and what looked like a silver space helmet on the top, just visible under his gnarled, tanned hand.
Buzz turned to look at his Dad, who was shaking his head slowly in wonder, his eyes glistening, tears threatening to spill over any second. Buzz leaned forward, hand extended. This was the biggest moment of his life. This was unreal. The applause from the audience was rapturous, deafening. His stomach clenched and unclenched.
"Mr. Aldrin, I cannot even begin to tell you...” he started.
And then, the anxiety of the day, the gravity of the moment, the nausea that had plagued him all day, reared up in one ugly go and before he could stop himself, chunks of ‘Beyond Beef’, green hop shoots, slimy pink radicchio and red current jam were flying out of his mouth, onto his shoes and onto Buzz Aldrin’s impeccable blue suit and his stars-and-stripes silk tie.
Amongst the gasps of the audience, he thought he could hear his Mum cry out ‘Oh gawd Buzz, no!’. He looked at her and then over at his Dad’s face.
The tears of joy were long gone and replaced with utter dismay. His Dad moved towards him and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, patting it slowly.
“Well... You know what son? They do always say never meet your fucking heroes don't they? And you’ve fucking proved them 100% right. You bloody idiot.”
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