Mona is sitting alone at a table in a deli in New York. She is about to finish her Italian combo when a big Indian man comes stomping through the screen doors. The man spots Mona sitting by herself, and decides to approach her. The Chief sits down across from Mona.
Chief: “What is your name?”
Mona appears startled by the strangers direct approach, and reluctantly gives him her name.
Mona: “My name is Mona. What is yours?”
Chief: “Some call me the Chief.”
Mona: “What should I call you?”
Chief: “Call me what you think I am.”
Mona: “But what should I think of you?”
Chief: “What does the Combine think?”
Mona: “The what?..”
Mona twists her head in a 90 degree angle, trying to understand what the Chief could have possibly meant.
Chief: “The Combine. Society. Everything. What do you think I am?”
Mona: “Well, I think that you might be an Indian.”
Chief: “Why?”
Mona: “Because you don’t have a home.”
Chief: “How do you know that I do not have a home?”
Mona: “I saw you wandering around outside for a while before coming in. And your clothes… they’re so raggy!”
Chief: “Just because I’m a Native American doesn’t mean that I don’t have a home. America is my home. Just like it is yours.”
Mona: “I know, I’m sorry I didn't mean to offend. it’s just the way things are in this country.”
Chief: “That’s what is so sad. People change their way of thinking and beliefs based on stereotypes the combine puts forth. You are no different. Now excuse me, I’m going to find more polite company.
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