Know It All

It was a twelve month hike up to the summit of the mystical mountain. The vast majority of the caravan had either succumbed to the bitter winds, been savaged by the bloodthirsty wolves, or had tripped over an errant stone and fallen into the vast precipice below. The only surviving member of this 300 person pilgrimage had finally made it to the guru’s sacred nesting ground.

Frost emanated from the wind worn traveler’s frostbite ravaged mouth, an industrial revolution worth of puffy plumes. “Tell me everything you know!” he gasped.

The guru, facing away from our intrepid truthseeker, was squatting on an ergonomic swivel chair that was attached by a chain to his mahogany desk so that it wouldn’t roll down the slope. Folders and folios were scattered along the desktop with the precision of a Pollock painting. Business had really picked up since he relocated from Haight-Ashbury. The mountaintop really lent an air of authenticity.

The wise guru swiveled around to meet the traveler face to face, but overshot 20 degrees, and had to reswivel into a better position.

“Everything I know?” he asked in ominous tones. “Where do I begin?”

He began with his name, phone number, and address. He related personal anecdotes, and second-hand anecdotes, and some anecdotes that had been passed on so many times that their originators had long been forgotten. He explained the rules to some of his favorite card games. He gave a detailed description of the San Francisco transit system, and how to get to the best places to eat.

He had gotten halfway through the taxonomy of owls when the traveler simply could not take it any more, his head bloated with excess knowledge.

Maybe now he could pass his exams.