Kinkaid Wolfe, 24 years-old and cursed by an otherworldly being

Something draws you toward a small city in the middle of the country, the United States of America. You didn't retain a photogenic memory of your research, but if you had to guess the location, this would either be Kansas or Iowa. You'll be able to pinpoint your exact spot once you get stationed at a hotel.

Anyways, as you teleport across the space-time continuum, you see a Curmudgeon preparing its own departing. It notices you and moves aside, like you're at a train station and the forgetful old woman forgot that passengers come off first. For as shrill and victim mentality–prone this species is, they do honor politeness and pleasantries.

"Hello there... Young... Plap?"

You hesitate to correct her, but you'd rather the main source of memetics in this galaxy not call you the sound of flesh slapping together. "We call ourselves P'yatt, Missus. It's hard to pronounce for— for most species though, so don't wor—"

"Aah hosh posh!" she said, using a phrase you were 25% sure was archaic at this time, "You don't have to throw your species under the road roller. I got it wrong, big whoop!"

You dart your eyes around, looking out for any possible memetics she might send your way for dishonoring your species. All that is sent your way is a spoon of pink milk-cream.

"Here, take a bite. Consider it my recompense."

"Ah, I couldn't possib—" before you even finish the sentence, she rolls her eyes into her head and scoops out some with the opposite end, "I didn't poison it or nuthin'! And you don't have to hold back for all that 'scientific guidelines' nonsense. I'm leaving anyway!"

You want to get this over with, so you shove your reluctance deep in your stomach and take a bite. As soon as the soft fruity flavor touches your tongue, you lose your senses and swallow the spoon. The Curmudgeon slaps you across the face and digs her wrinkly, salty arm into your throat. You choke on elderly vitriol before she pulls the spoon out.

"Stupid alien! I curse you!!!" she throws the saliva-covered spoon at you, "I curse you like that self-centered Kinkaid Wolfe, the punk kid that knocked over my strawberry cone! 12 memetics your way! Get fucked!"

"N-NO! PLEASE!" you beg, "PLEASE, I UNDERSTAND WHAT I DID WAS WRONG AND THAT I— I NEED PUNISHMENT, BUT PLEASE LOWER IT TO 1!"

"6."

"3?"

"4! Final answer! Let me leave this gluttonous planet!"

"Yes, yes I will. Thank you for your mercy... Um, do you want this spoon, I can cle—"

"I'll just use one of the crystal ones on Pluto! It may be hard to use, but at least it isn't covered in Pee-Yacht drool and whatever alien stuff you have!" and just like that, her form twists into a beam of light and shoots through the night sky.

Honestly, relative to other Curmudgeons, she was very forgiving. Swallowing another person's eating utensils is an insane thing to do. You're very lucky to have been able to bargain some of the memetics away.

You ponder the circumstances of the next few weeks. You wouldn't be able to escape Curmudgeon retribution, even if you were to make an escape right now, so the best thing to do is continue your studies. From what you gathered from the Curmudgeon, the energy that drew you to this town was from her cursing a "Kinkaid Wolfe" because he knocked over her treat. Getting close to him would likely result in your memetics being 4 of his 12. That would easily kill 2 birds with 1 stone (hehe, Earth phrase B3) — you'd get to research memetic intersection, as well as your own changes. Maybe you could even cure some of them!

With a bookbag at your side, you make your way into St. Omaha.