Before the brown squirrel could take even a step upon the trail before him, he heard someone walking up behind him. "Hello Friend," came the greeting from what appeared to be a wayward raccoon. The raccoon had a slick appearance, like a used car salesman, and was carrying a briefcase. Squirrel had never seen a raccoon so slick and professional looking. "Have you lost your way?" asked the raccoon. "Sorta," replied the squirrel, "it's just that the way is not as clear as some have said, and my map is covered with all of this conflicting directions." "Well," snorted the raccoon, "Have no fears at all... I am an expert in these here parts... I have known them well since my birth... where is it you want to go?" The Squirrel was very uncomfortable with this raccoon... he had not asked for help, nor did he really want this over slicked "friend" to further complicate his map... Deep inside of him the tension was building to near explosive dimensions. On the one hand, the voice of American Christian niceness was telling him that he had to be civil and friendly to this person. On the other hand, he wanted to push him away and run. Caught in this in-between moment of life, Squirrel had no concept of the true implications of this decision. If he again allowed appropriate niceness to govern the day, he would have to forfeit his map and listen once more to the advice of another "slick perfect answer man." He had done that before, always to frustration and discouragement. What was the solution... could he run... would his conscience allow it...?
"HEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" yelled "Slick Perfect Answer Raccoon," as the dust flew off of Squirrels sprinting feet.
