The Man Who Requested the Moon

# The Man Who Requested the Moon

James Washkau had always wanted to work at NASA.

Unfortunately, NASA did not seem equally enthusiastic.

He applied to be a communications specialist, a data analyst, a social media manager, an archivist, and—during one particularly desperate evening—a spacecraft window-cleaning technician. Each application disappeared into the federal hiring system like a radio signal swallowed by a black hole.

Then James discovered the Freedom of Information Act.

His first request was perfectly reasonable:

“Please provide the annual electricity consumption of Johnson Space Center.”

NASA acknowledged it and assigned a tracking number.

Encouraged, James submitted another:

“Please provide the monthly electricity consumption.”

Then another:

“Please provide the electricity consumption of each individual building.”

Then:

“Please provide the electricity consumption of every vending machine inside each individual building.”

Within a month, James had requested utility bills, solar-panel maintenance logs, cafeteria microwave wattages, thermostat settings, elevator inspection reports, and every internal email containing the phrase “who keeps submitting these requests?”

At NASA headquarters, alarms began flashing.

Not spacecraft alarms.

Administrative alarms.

The Johnson Space Center FOIA office became the busiest operational unit at NASA. Printers overheated. Spreadsheets grew too large to open. Three records officers developed an irrational fear of the words “reasonably segregable portion.”

NASA hired twelve contractors just to search for responsive documents.

James continued.

He requested the total amount of coffee consumed during the Apollo program. He requested the serial number of every chair in Mission Control. He requested records explaining why Building 31 used fourteen percent more natural gas on February 17, 1998.

Then came his masterpiece:

“Please provide all records concerning NASA’s previous searches for records responsive to my previous requests.”

The request created a bureaucratic feedback loop.

To fulfill it, NASA had to document the employees documenting the employees who were documenting James’s requests. The records generated new records, which became responsive records, which generated still more records.

NASA’s computers began producing FOIA documents faster than light.

The anomaly was detected by the Deep Space Network.

One morning, James received a call from an exhausted NASA official.

“Mr. Washkau,” she said, “we’ve reviewed your employment applications.”

“And?”

“We’re offering you a position.”

“As a communications specialist?”

“No.”

“Data analyst?”

“No.”

“Archivist?”

“Not exactly.”

She took a deep breath.

“We need you to fulfill your own FOIA requests.”

James accepted immediately.

On his first day at Johnson Space Center, security handed him a badge, a laptop, and a cart containing 47 boxes of responsive documents.

His supervisor pointed toward a warehouse stretching beyond the horizon.

“That’s the first installment.”

James smiled.

He was finally inside NASA.

Within six months, he became director of records management. Within a year, he was promoted to chief information officer. By year three, he knew more about NASA’s buildings than the engineers who had designed them.

Then, late one night, James discovered a utility bill for a building that officially did not exist.

Building 51.

It consumed enough electricity to power Houston, yet it appeared on no map of Johnson Space Center.

James submitted a FOIA request.

The next morning, two officials wearing black suits entered his office.

“Mr. Washkau,” one said, quietly closing the door, “some information is not meant to be released.”

James leaned back in his NASA-issued chair.

“Then you’ll need to cite the exemption.”

The officials exchanged nervous glances.

Nobody had ever asked the aliens in Building 51 whether their presence was classified under FOIA.

Three days later, James was appointed NASA administrator.

His first official act was to fulfill his oldest outstanding request: a list of every NASA position he had applied for and the reason he had been rejected.

The response contained one sentence:

“Applicant may be excessively persistent.”

James framed it and hung it above his desk.

Then he submitted an appeal.