Standards, Smith, Standards, Part II

Continued from Part II.

“Not… that… easy…” said the waiter, as if Smith had just confessed to overfeeding his cat. “This restaurant was created to serve kings, Monsieur Smeeth. Kings. Creatures of might and learning. You, for some reason, deem your self worthy to sit at their tables, yet you are incapable of placing an order intelligible to either myself or the chef!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” begged Smith. “I just wanted to experience something new.”

“Something new!” seethed the waiter. “I will teach you something new, alright Monsieur Smeeth. I will do so as a human trains an animal for hard labour or cheap tricks… with reward.”

The little silver dish was now placed in the very centre of the table. Not a single blotch marred its perfectly polished surface. With a swift flick of his wrist, the waiter whisked away the lid, revealing a small golden cube underneath.

Du beurre. La gloire de Dieu,” whispered the waiter.

Smith stared at it. His stomach growled and curled into knots. “I’m so hungry,” he wept. “It’s been so long since I’ve had food.”

“Pronounce!” commanded the waiter. “Pronounce!”

“Ploraid de fleu…” Smith started, then jumped again as the waiter again thumped the table hard, briskly replaced the lid back on the silver dish and swept it from the table.

The waiter stood tall, staring down at the cowering Smith, who was shaking and reeling on the point of starvation.

“I’ll come back, Monsieur Smeeth,” said the waiter, “when you are ready to order.”

The End


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