Cultural Infraction

Molly was reading an interesting mystery novel and noisily sucking up a strawberry milkshake through a straw when the men came in. She didn’t notice them because she was so intensely engaged in the two activities previously mentioned. But several other people in the small diner did.

They noticed the two men because they wore ominously dull grey suits and dark sunglasses. Those who noticed them, however, quickly pretended that they did not because these two men seemed like the sort who did not wish to be noticed and who would cause you a great deal of discomfort if you did. They looked virtually the same except that the one on the left had a small moustache and the one on the right wore a striped tie.

The two men walked over to Molly’s table and loomed over her. Despite this Molly remained engaged in her activities.

“Ahem…Miss Charleston?” asked the man with the moustache.

Perhaps you have heard that it is dangerous to wake someone while they are sleepwalking. That is true. However what you probably not heard that it is equally dangerous to startle a person who is engrossed in a good book.

Molly jumped and inhaled a good-sized lump of ice cream and strawberries. This caused her to sputter and cough for a total of three-and-a-quarter minutes. After this she was able to dislodge the strawberry chunk and composed herself. Brushing a strand of her shoulder-length, curly-brown hair out of her face she looked up at the two men and smiled.

“Good grief! You nearly killed me there!” she said with a laugh.

“Miss Charleston?” asked the man with the striped tie. He was not laughing.

“Yes that’s me. What can I do for you?”

“You’ll have to come with us,” said the man with the moustache.

“What? Why?” asked Molly in shock.

“We are from the CSA.

“Who?”

“The Cultural Security Agency. You are charged with a cultural infraction and conspiracy to endanger culture.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Molly demanded.

The man with the striped tie reached into his jacket and removed a folder. He opened it and slammed it down on the table in front of Molly.

“Take a look at these,” he said, thrusting his finger at the papers in the folder. “We’ve been watching you for some time now. We know what you’ve been up to.”

Shocked Molly read the report.

“Wait a minute, what is this? It looks like a record of everything I’ve done since I graduated high-school.”

“Yes, I assume it speaks for itself,” said the moustache man.

“No, not really. What exactly are these charges you’re talking about?”

“Well,” began the striped tie man, “since you graduated high school what have you done with yourself?”

Glancing at the file Molly thought and responded.

“Uh, I studied arts and philosophy for a year. Then I worked for a year. Following that I traveled to Lithuania and India. After that I came home and have been working all this past year at a bookstore. But I don’t see how any of that…”

“What did you do while travelling in those other countries?” asked moustache man

“Well… I taught English as a second language in India and worked at an orphanage in Lithuania.”

“And what exactly does that, or what you did at either of your two past occupations, have to do with the classes you took in university?” asked striped tie man.

“Uh… nothing I suppose.”

“Precisely! You took those classes out of pure interest!” spat the moustache.

“Well… yes. That’s not a crime though…”

“Not a crime?” sneered stripes. “You’ve broken the first law of culture: Thou shalt pursue only that which furthers the acquisition of possessions and wealth.”

“Law of culture? What the heck are you talking about?”

Moustache laughed condescendingly.

“We’re talking about the laws that really keep the gears of this society grinding steadily forward.”

“You’re crazy,” declared Molly. “So what if I don’t just want to spend my life collecting money and DVD players. Maybe I took those classes just because I was interested in the topics and wanted to become a better person. Maybe I don’t care about money. Maybe I just want to spend it on simple pleasures for myself and the people that have been placed in my life.”

“You twisted little monster!” shrieked stripes. “Money is used to buy possessions and to get education that allows individuals to get better jobs so that they can get more money that they can spend on newer, better possessions. That is how people are meant to live. There is a cycle of life that must be perpetuated!”

“Life?” cried Molly in disbelief. “I’ve never heard anything that sounded less like it.”

“I’ve heard enough,” said moustache. “You’re coming with us.”

With that the two men locked Molly up in handcuffs and escorted her out of diner. Immediately everyone in the diner returned to what they had been doing and made sure to buy something else from the menu before they went home.

The End

Susan, John, & Duck

"John, I think your duck hates me."

Susan sat on John’s sofa with an uncomfortable look on her face. This is because she was feeling rather uncomfortable just then. John’s duck stood perched on the arm of the sofa and glared disapprovingly at her. John stuck his head out of the doorway into the kitchen to take a quick look.

"Nonsense, Sue. He adores you. Look how close he is to you. I think he wants to cuddle."
John disappeared back into the kitchen and continued to clatter around in his effort to impress Susan with his culinary abilities.

"I don’t know," she responded uncertainly. "He seems rather ornery."

"Oh don’t be silly darling, ducks don’t have corners."

"Not cornery John… ORNERY. I think he’s unhappy that I’m here."

"Now, that, I don’t believe. You should have seen him before you got here. He was so excited. Just couldn’t stop flapping around and quacking."

"Are you sure that wasn’t him being angry with you for inviting me over?"

John laughed at the joke. The only problem was, Susan wasn’t joking. To her it really seemed as if the duck didn’t like her.

"It’s okay ducky," she cooed gently. "I just want to be your friend."

Susan reached out her hand to stroke the duck’s soft head. With a quick snap the duck chomped down on her index finger.

"Aaaiiiiieeeeeeee!" shrieked Susan in pain.

"Quuuaaaccckkk!" shrieked the duck in unison.

John rushed in from the other room.

"What’s wrong?" he asked urgently.

"That duck bit me!" Susan said in disbelief.

"Nonsense, he doesn’t bite."

The duck waddled over to John, raised its wings up towards him, and quacked a frightened little quack.

"You scared him!" accused John.

"He bit me!"

"Well you shouldn’t have been screaming like that. No wonder he bit you."

"I was screaming because he bit me!"

"Hmmm, that doesn’t sound like him. Are you feeling alright buddy?"

The duck gave a weak little quack and went limp.

Frantically John pressed his ear to the duck’s chest. He listened carefully and then sighed with relief.

"He’s only passed put," he said happily.

Then he looked accusingly at Susan.

"You terrified him!"

Susan stood silently aghast.

"I’m sorry Susan," apologized John. "I don’t think this is going to work. I’m going to have to ask you to leave."

As she got her jacket to leave, Susan was almost sure that she saw John’s duck smiling a mischievous smile.

A few minutes later Susan was walking down the cold street alone. She held her jacket tight around her. A tear rolled down her cheek. Things had been going so well between her and John. And now, it was all over thanks to that stupid duck. She sniffed.

Then a thought occurred to her. What sort of man keeps a duck as a pet? And what’s more, cares more about it than his girlfriend? John had to be some sort of foolish person Susan decided. Once she realized this she started to feel better.

Susan went on to find the man of her dreams and the two of them spent many a weekend taking part in his favorite sport… duck hunting. He was thrilled because he had never found a woman who enjoyed it as much as he did.

The End