Chapter 4
Thursday in Waterford arrived with all the subtlety of a ketchup packet exploding in a tuxedo. The cows were holding a union meeting (demanding better grass and fewer existential crises), the mayor was busy trying to teach her squirrel to do taxes, and the BK Lounge had replaced its "BJ's: Coming Soon!" sign with a new one that read, "Help Hotline: Press 1 for Bureaucracy, 2 for Confusion, 3 for a Very Long Wait."
Colonel Mustard and Lieutenant Pickle were at the heart of the chaos, standing beside the town's infamous Help Hotline phone booth—a relic from the '80s that looked like it had survived a condiment war.
Mustard picked up the receiver. "Waterford Help Line, how can I not help you today?"
A robotic voice replied, "Please press 1 if you're lost in the labyrinth of paperwork. Press 2 if you need to fill out more forms. Press 3 to speak to a human who is currently on a coffee break."
Pickle, peering over Mustard's shoulder, whispered, "I'm pretty sure this hotline was designed by the cartel cats."
Mustard nodded. "Bureaucracy shouldn't stand in the way of compassion, but in Waterford, it's the main course."
Just then, Mrs. Peabody rushed up, clutching a stack of forms titled "How to Report a Missing BJ." She looked frantic. "I've been on hold for three hours! I just want to talk to someone who can actually help!"
Mustard sighed. "Help should actually help, Mrs. Peabody. Not just shuffle papers and play hold music that sounds like a kazoo orchestra."
Pickle chimed in, "Maybe we should design our own hotline. Press 1 for mustard, 2 for pickles, and 3 to get straight to the point."
The mayor appeared, holding a giant rubber stamp. "I hereby declare that all help requests must be submitted in triplicate and approved by the Cat Council."
Mustard groaned. "And there it is—the bureaucratic boogeyman."
Pelosi with the Clues popped out from behind a stack of unopened mail. "Sometimes the system is designed to protect itself, not the people. Real help means listening, not just ticking boxes."
Inspired, Colonel Mustard grabbed a megaphone. "Waterford! If you're in trouble, don't settle for scripted sympathy. Demand real help. And if that fails, call me. I'm better at mustard than paperwork."
Pickle raised his hand. "Sir, can I be the official hotline singer?"
Mustard laughed. "Only if you promise to sing 'The Hotline Blues' every time someone gets stuck on hold."
As the sun set, the townsfolk gathered around, sharing stories of red tape and ridiculous rules. Somewhere in the distance, the hotline played "The Hotline Blues" on a loop, but for once, people were laughing instead of crying.
Because in Waterford, help should actually help—and if it doesn't, at least you get a good song out of it.
Colonel Mustard's Clue:
If help comes with more paperwork than your taxes, it's not help—it's a scavenger hunt.