THE CHEF'S TALE
A MODERN
ADAPTATION OF THE COOK'S TALE FROM CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES
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THE CHEF'S PROLOGUE A silence greeted this ungodly
tale, THE CHEF'S TALE There was an assistant manager
whose work Would once have been intended for a clerk. But nowadays we make the ego king And so inflate the worth of everything. Assistant manager's the lowest rung, But sounds much better on the ignorant tongue Than clerk or secretary or cashier, Words that we no longer wish to hear. Hard work and real achievement get the same Recognition, title, status, name As mediocrity, or often worse. Now this young man was to his boss a curse. He hated work and often loved to play Computer games to while the time away, Or chat online with strangers, friends, whomever. When his boss came 'round, he would endeavor To look as though he had no time to spare, So overworked he was, and full of care. Yet at five o'clock, right on the dot, He was gone, overworked or not, To happy hour at a nearby bar Or home to find friends for his avatar, A cartoon he called Perkin Reveler After Chaucer's uncouth character. This Perkin chatted gaily with cartoons, Avatars he met in closed chat rooms, Where they had sex (in words -- they had no flesh), Two avatars in virtual congress. The person -- Stanley -- had a friend named Steve, Whose wife was somewhere out there, he believed, Since Steve once said he caught her in the act Of having sex in words, if not in fact. She promised him that she would stop if he Would satisfy her in reality, But Stanley knew quite well her avatar Was having better sex online by far. There was no way, of course, that he could know What lay behind each avatar, and so He fantasized right through the fantasy That it was Steve's wife in reality, Enjoying all those layers -- At this the chef broke off, and to us said, "I am afraid my inspiration's dead." "Oh, go on!" the baker urged. "You've made Us anxious to hear more. The plot you've laid With Steven's wife is quite intriguing, and Your character is quite the modern man." "Have a drink!" the sheriff said. "And then You'll get your inspiration back again." "I'm sorry. You don't understand. He's dead," The chef insisted. "Chaucer. Chaucer's dead." "Chaucer wrote this tale of avatars, Computers, chat rooms, happy hours at bars?" The lawyer asked, as though it could not be. "Not exactly," said the chef. "But he Set out the bones. The flesh, it's true, is mine. This isn't a translation, line for line, But let us say an adaptation that Rides through our own brief time on Chaucer's back. "But somehow I was drawn to tell a tale That Chaucer left unfinished, doomed to fail. Well, there it is. I've tried to do my best. Now I'll sit back and listen to the rest." |
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