Chapter 3
Wednesday dawned in Waterford with the subtlety of a marching band in a library. The cows were on strike (demanding better Wi-Fi in the pasture), the mayor was holding a press conference about her new "No Socks Left Behind" initiative, and the town's only traffic light was flashing Morse code that spelled out "HELP."
Colonel Mustard and Lieutenant Pickle found themselves at the heart of the action: the BK Lounge, Waterford's unofficial headquarters for confusion. The "BJ's: Coming Soon!" sign was now joined by a handwritten note: "Inquire Within. Or Don't. We're Not the Boss of You."
Pickle, ever the optimist, approached the counter. "Excuse me, could I get a BJ with my Whopper?"
The cashier, a teenager named Chad who looked like he'd been up all night arguing with his reflection, replied, "Sorry, I'm just following orders. No BJ's until further notice. Also, no Whoppers before noon, and no eye contact with the condiment dispenser."
Colonel Mustard sidled up, notebook in hand. "Chad, who's giving these orders?"
Chad shrugged. "The manager. Or maybe the mayor. Or possibly the cartel cats. I just do what I'm told."
Mustard leaned in, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. "And if the manager told you to jump off the Waterford Bridge, would you do it?"
Chad blinked. "Is there a dental plan?"
Pickle piped up, "I'd jump if there were pickles at the bottom. Or at least a soft landing of old French fries."
Mustard shook his head. "That's the problem, gentlemen. 'Just following orders' is how we end up with sock-mittens, missing BJ's, and a traffic light that blinks S.O.S. in Morse code."
Just then, the mayor burst in, squirrel perched on her shoulder, waving a stack of forms. "Attention, citizens! Effective immediately, all condiment requests must be submitted in triplicate, signed by a notary, and approved by the Cat Council."
A collective groan echoed through the BK Lounge. Mrs. Peabody fainted into a pile of napkins. The cartel cats, lurking by the soda machine, high-fived each other with their tails.
Pelosi with the Clues appeared, holding a rubber stamp and a magnifying glass. "The answer lies not in the orders you follow, but in the questions you ask," she intoned, stamping a form with the word "MAYBE" and disappearing into the kitchen.
Colonel Mustard turned to the crowd. "Listen up, Waterford! Common sense means taking responsibility for your actions, even when someone in authority tells you otherwise. If you know it's wrong, don't do it. Unless it involves karaoke—then, by all means, embarrass yourself."
Pickle grinned. "Sir, does this mean we can start our own condiment revolution?"
Mustard winked. "Only if you're willing to face the consequences—like being banned from the BK Lounge and forced to eat mayo sandwiches in exile."
Just then, the hotline phone booth rang. Mustard answered:
"Thank you for calling the Waterford Help Line. Press 1 to report a rogue squirrel. Press 2 to request a sock-mitten. Press 3 to speak to the manager—who is currently out to lunch."
Mustard pressed 3. The phone played "Let It Relish" on a loop until he hung up.
As the morning wore on, Waterford's citizens began to question the orders they'd always followed. Chad started serving Whoppers before noon (with extra pickles), the mayor's squirrel filed for workers' comp, and someone finally unplugged the traffic light.
Colonel Mustard and Lieutenant Pickle strolled into the sunrise, ready to challenge the next ridiculous rule. Because in Waterford, "just following orders" is the quickest way to end up in a sitcom—or jail.
Colonel Mustard's Clue:
If your boss tells you to jump off a bridge, ask if there's a dental plan first.