Made to Be

I don't make the rules.

***

I wrote that sentence some time ago. It's true. I don't. But I also don't make life very easy for myself. Not with opening lines like that. I don't know where I was going with it. There aren't many places I can go from there.

Or are there?

***

"I don't make the rules," said Moses, lying through his teeth. 

"But why?" asked Lorna. "We like killing and stealing. And... and one of the other ones. The one about witness bears."

"Because. That's why."

"That's no reason..." Jobie piped up.

"Pipe down, Jobie," said Moses. "This isn't a discussion. This is an order. Ten orders. They're literally written in stone."

"By you," said Lorna, flicking a bit of gravel onto some other gravel.

"No. No. Not by me, actually."

"By who, then?"

"God! He spake them and that."

"Yeah, well God spakes a lot of things..."

"Lorna. Don't question thy Lord. Or me. Thy me."

"How do we know it wasn't just you writing these commandants?" asked Lorna's friend Guffy (not his real name).

"What do you think I am - made of chisels?" Moses quipped.

"So, no killing. Or bears."

"That's right."

"Or graven shit?"

"No. I mean, no graven images. I guess you can write... y'know... graven songs or whatever. Or invisible stuff."

"What about the bears?"

"For Christ's sake, Guffy! Enough with the SODDING bears!"

Jobie raised his hand.

"Yes, Jobie? What now?"

"Who is this "Christ"?"

"What? I didn't... I didn't say anything about..."

"Yes you did," said Lorna. "You said "for Christ's sake"."

The others nodded.

"I was..." Moses thought about running for it, but collected himself. "Enough about this. Who wants to see me part another sea?"

"Ooh, ooh, I do!" Jobie jumped up and down, and raised his hand again. Everyone cheered. Moses smiled. A bush did something. Everyone was happy. All was well for the Jews for a while.

***

That was disappointing. Maybe I should try again.

***

I don't make the rules. 

I just sell them. 

They come into the store from a factory. I've been to the factory. I've seen them at work. It's a precise art. The conditions are fantastic. Modern rulemakers are highly valued. They're artisans, really. Factory is a misleading term for it. It's more of a studio. It's only called a factory because of the crates and conveyor belts and forklifts and what-have-you.

Even in this time of financial difficulty, the rule industry is going from strength to strength. You always need rules. In fact, the more society crumbles, the more rules you need. If someone is rioting because the rich aren't paying tax, you need rules to make people stop rioting and start paying tax. And a rule to govern how those rules work and how they should be applied.

Rulemakers make up to eighty-grand each year. Depending on the area. I'm not so rich. I don't make the rules. I just sell them.

I like my job. I'm not skilled. It's not that I'm an aspiring rulemaker, or that I'm jealous in any way. I couldn't make a rule. I don't have the know-how. I barely know which end of a rule is up. I respect the rule trade, though. I can sell a rule to anyone as quick as you like. I've got the patter. More than that - I can tell what people need.

Someone will come into the shop and say "Excuse me. My five-year-old son keeps eating three tubs of ice-cream before each meal and is always too full to eat the vegetables and Ritalin I've prepared for him. Is there anything I can do?"

I can immediately, without knowing anything about the boy or the tubs, tell that they need a specific rule. "How about this one?" I say, and pull one down from off the shelf. "It's a rule that says NO ICE-CREAM BEFORE DINNER - AND NOT SO MANY TUBS OR ELSE. Does that sound like the kind of thing you're looking for?"

And they'll say "Yes. That's exactly the kind of thing I am looking for."

Then there's a bit of haggling, but we always come to an agreement. The customer leaves happy, I leave happy (when I leave), and the rulemakers are happy. Because they've crafted a solution.

Plus, there's benefits. I get a discount on rules for my own private use. I don't abuse the privilege. But I do have a couple that have made my life a lot easier. NO POISONED FISH and NO MORE THEN A HUNDRED WIVES. I live by those rules. Even though one of them has a typo in it.

I don't make the rules, but I live by them. And I sell them. And they've done fine by me.

***

That was a bit more interesting. A bit long, though. I can probably come up with something snappier.

***

I don't make the rules. I make the Crème rûlées. They're like normal rules, but with caramelised sugar.

***

Yeah!

This has been top notch. I obviously knew what I was doing when I wrote that opening sentence. It wasn't pointless at all. And this has been totally worthwhile. I really think I'm starting to hit my stride with this whole "not wanting to be dead" lark. This time next year, I'll be an elite writer, like Dick King-Smith or Bernie Taupin.

I'm going to drink some celebratory fluid.

God be with you.