The project has begun

Hey, this is Jordan writing my first ever blog post about the Mars 499 project. Thank you for reading. We’ve just completed our first week in the “spaceship”, and I must say I am already concerned about this mission. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking quite frankly.

My reasons for joining the Mars 499 project were simple enough. I needed a break from medical school (I’ll tell you about the whole “cadaver, hamster, and Cheez Whiz story” later). I needed to feel like I was contributing to the world. And most importantly I love the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. The U.S.A is the best country in the world as proven by many statistics, and when the European Space Agency announced they would be simulating a trip to Mars right here on Earth, I knew we could do better. We had to do better, because we are the leaders of the free world. As a student doctor, I knew my skill set would be valuable. After all, I can take blood pressures, and have seen the successful placement of a rectal tube.

I first heard about the Mars 499 project through an email. Billionaire mogul sparks new space race for the 21st Century it read. Some forward-thinking benefactor sought 5 brave volunteers to hole up in a mock spaceship environment for almost a year and a half in order to study how such a mission would affect the human psyche. They accepted me within minutes of my email application.

Can five humans get along in such confined isolation? What are the inevitable conflicts? Can’t we all just get along? The wasteful, effete Europeans are spending hundreds of millions on their project. We are going to keep our budget less than a million, demonstrating that America can still compete in the global labor market for astronaut simulation experiments. Should the Europeans suddenly change their mission to “Mars 498” no worries. We’ve copyrighted every other combination of Mars and numbers 497 through 0 so that we can be assured of victory. That’s just changing numbers, you might quibble. A real mission to Mars can’t be rushed. To you I would reply “think big.” American ingenuity can get us there as fast as we need to. I spit on doubters. They said in medical school it would take years to learn everything needed to successfully place a rectal tube. But I have pretty much already done it, with no complications, using only the power of mental visualization and some vivid dreams. I am ready. America, are you ready?

So anyway, I told medical school that I would be taking a year and a half leave of absence, and that they needed to hold my spot until I returned. I packed up my laptop, some Ayn Rand, and a six pack of Red Bull to drive across the country to the Arizona desert. My GPS located the spot, which is top secret. I was the first astronaut to arrive at the “spaceship,” and I must say that I was a bit shocked to see it. I had imagined a steely container, polished like the International Space Station, with all sorts of gadgets and high tech gear. Instead the “spaceship” was a rather dilapidated trailer set up on concrete blocks. There was no one to welcome me or explain the particulars of moving in. I knocked on the front door before letting myself into the big sardine tin, which incidentally did smell of fish sauce and used cigarettes. There was a kitchen with a table, a living room which I presumed would be used for scientific studies, and five beds crammed bunk style into the far corner of the trailer. The windows were open, which kind of spoiled the illusion of interplanetary flight but provided some fresh air in the 100 plus degree heat. I picked one of the top bunk beds and before I knew it I had fallen asleep, exhausted by the heat and my all night journey to the Mars 499 project. But I was thrilled to begin such an important endeavor.

When I woke up an hour later it was to the commotion of two men scuffling in the trailer. One was bare-chested, fat, and sweaty. He was strangling a thin, French-looking waif of a man, who in turn was raking the fat man’s face with his spindly fingers as he turned blue. I leapt down from my bed to pull them apart, and sprained my ankle in the act. As I ordered them to separate corners of the trailer like a boxing referee, I introduced myself as Jordan, a medical student and “astronaut” in the Mars 499 project, and who the hell were they?

The skinny one replied first. “I’m LeSean, and I’m hot and angry!” he screamed, launching himself towards his fat enemy combatant anew. I backhanded him like a fly, and questioned his patriotism.

“Are you a Frenchman or an American?” I glared at him. “Are you some kind of spy for the Europeans?”

LeSean stood up slowly. The blood trickling from his long nose was the first shed on our Mission, and it saddens me when I think of it now. “Screw you,” he began crying. “I am an American, a librarian, and you have hurt my feelings. We have a very important mission to begin, and this is how you greet your fellow astronaut?”

I apologized to LeSean and asked if we could start over. He said yes, and gave me an uncomfortable hug. In all the fracas the fat man had found my Red Bulls, and was gulping one down without my permission. The pink liquid spilled from the corners of his mouth and onto his man boobs. “Name’s Malcolm,” he belched. “And I’m going to sue you motherf*ckers.”

LeSean and I looked at one another. His brow was furrowed and I thought he might cry at any moment. Again.

“Just kidding,” Malcolm broke into a smile, extending his meaty hand for us to shake. “Lawyer’s joke.”

That was how the Mission began. I will be writing more soon, but as we speak LeSean is crying and throwing handfuls of cheese doodles as Zhi, who is cursing in Chinese and threatening to leave the Mission already.

*