Planet Xanadu had a peculiar reputation for two things: Its 42-hour long days and an exceptional piña colada so potent that the Galactic Patrol had designated it a Class-2 Substance. The drink was exclusively served at The Cha-Cha-Cha Bar, a dimly lit joint with a neon green sign flickering outside, known across the galaxy for its peculiar beverages and vibrant cha-cha-cha nights.
Kurt, a disheveled intergalactic cargo transporter, had just completed a grueling week of long light-year hauls. He yearned for relaxation and, upon hearing about Xanadu’s legendary piña coladas and cha-cha-cha nights, decided it was exactly what he needed to shed his icy exterior, crafted from years of tough dealings in the harsh vacuum of space.
As soon as Kurt stepped into the bar, he ordered a piña colada and decided to take the drink quite literally with both hands. The taste was exquisite, a fusion of otherworldly flavors he couldn’t comprehend, much less pronounce. One sip in, and he felt a surge of energy coursing through him, prompting him to dance, much like the cha-cha-cha rhythm playing in the background. “Cha, cha, cha, cha, cha, cha, cha, ei,” he repeated under his breath, matching the beats to his hasty footwork.
A couple of drinks later, his formerly grim expression had morphed into a reckless grin. His demeanor attracted the attention of others in the bar, as patrons whispered and laughed, impressed by the transformation.
In his intoxicated euphoria, Kurt forgot about his looming cargo delivery deadlines, the weariness of his mundane job, and danced like the bar’s disco lights were the twinkling stars he usually zoomed past. He danced until he could barely stand, yet he was enjoying every second of his topsy-turvy freedom.
Kurt’s fame quickly spread across the bar. When the alien DJ noticed him, he blasted the traditional Xanadu cha-cha-cha anthem. Kurt, fueled by the infamous piña coladas, began to mimic the cha-cha-cha steps, albeit less gracefully than the Xanadu natives. He spilled champagne over himself in a wild, alcohol-induced attempt to blend into the alien culture.
“Cha, cha, cha, my eye’s already squinting,” he slurred in his Earthly accent, prompting roars of laughter from the crowd. He had become the bar’s epicenter, the focal point of entertainment.
At the end of the night, despite his speech faltering and his balance wavering, Kurt concluded he wasn’t usually this person, but for that night, he was that man, the life of the cha-cha-cha party.
And that’s how Kurt, the cargo transporter, ended up on the Xanadu News Network, earning the title of “The Human Cha-Cha-Cha Disaster,” and became the unofficial mascot of The Cha-Cha-Cha Bar. And more so, he lived the song that became his mantra every time he needed a break, reminding himself that sometimes, letting loose was not just okay but necessary, and even in the weirdest ways, fun and freedom could be found… Even if it involved copious amounts of alien piña coladas and cha-cha-cha dance-offs.
Jarmo Puolakanaho 