I had the worst dream ever. I was sitting behind a large, mahogany table in a conference room featuring wallpaper with dragons. As I looked up, I saw an impeccably dressed lady with horn-rimmed glasses. She was holding a ballpoint pen and staring at several questions on her notepad.
"So you're claiming that your long-term exposure to cedar chips in your plastic cage has caused you serious health problems, isn't that correct Mr. Chinchilla?"
"Absolutely." I wasn't sure of the lawyer's full name in my dream, but I think her first name was Cindy. Or Matilda.
"But isn't it really correct that you were never housed in a plastic cage for more than a couple years?"
"No way, Jose! After I escaped from the plastic cage, I continued to use cedar chips as my preferred bedding. Because I was totally addicted to them by that time."
"I see, Mr. Chinchilla. Much like you're addicted to hamburgers, isn't that true?"
"Nope. Not addicted. Not me."
"Mr. Chinchilla, let me show you your answer to interrogatory number 56, part a, section three, paragraph five." She then reached below the table and quickly shoved some papers across the mahogany table to me.
"Yeah?"
"Do you see your answer?"
"Yeah."
"Would you please read your answer to interrogatory number 56, part a, section three, paragraph five to me?"
"No."
"Let the record reflect that the chinchilla refuses to answer the question." The lawyer continued:
"Isn't it true that your answer to interrogatory number fifty-seven, part a, section 3 reads, and I quote: I really love eating hamburgers. I eat them as often as I can. I think I might even love eating hamburgers more than I love sex. That's why the chinchilla eats hamburgers whenever, wherever he can. Do you think I can have a hamburger after I finish these interrogatories?"
Memo to the chinchilla in his dream: I must remember not to eat tequila-soaked raisins when answering interrogatories.
"How many hamburgers have you had over the course of your life, Mr. Chinchilla?"
"I dunno." I wanted to jump out of my chair, but some unknown force kept me fixed to my seat.
"Why don't you estimate for me, Mr. Chinchilla. Please."
"Um. Maybe five or six a week. I dunno."
"And these burgers that you eat, are they regular size hamburgers?"
"Define regular size, please." I was trying to stall. But I could feel the attorney's ax bearing down on me.
"By regular size, I mean are they the same size as the ones people eat?"
"Well, duh! Whoever heard of anyone serving a chinchilla-size burger? That's just ridiculous!" The room remained silent. The chinchilla's lame attempt at humor failed to stop my grilling.
"So, basically, you're telling me that you eat over 300 people-size burgers a year, right?"
"Uh, I guess."
"And each burger that you eat is about one-third the size of your entire chinchilla body, right?"
"If you want to look at it that way. . . ."
"Mr. Chinchilla, isn't it really true that your hamburger eating habit has caused your health problems?"
"Um. . . . " I started crying.
"Mr. Chinchilla?"
"Um. . . . " I kept crying.
"Mr. Chinchilla?"
And then I caved:
"YES. YES. YES. IT WAS THE HAMBURGERS. THE CHINCHILLA CANNOT LIVE THIS LIE ANYMORE. HAMBURGERS! HAMBURGERS! IT WAS ALL THOSE TOXIC HAMBURGERS I ATE. THE HAMBURGERS MADE ME SICK. I TRIED TO BLAME IT ON THOSE CEDAR CHIPS, BUT I CAN'T HIDE THE TRUTH. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. . . . ."
Then my alarm clock sounded, and I woke up between my satin sheets, which now were completely soaked in chinchilla sweat.
That's the last time I read an OSHA report before going to bed.
the permanence of change...
1 hour ago
