Welcome to Vege-Inn. A restaurant that ONLY serves synthetic foods that are plant-based. Catering to those with specific diets, or dietary choices.
A knomira stomping in demands a steak, and then throws a temper tantrum to realize even the "meat" here is plant-based. -- Anon Guest
There were pictures of smiling fruits and vegetables in the kiddies' section. The menu boards were bordered with artistic plants and plant byproducts. The sign at the entrance blared VEGAN ONLY FOOD SOLD HERE in friendly letters and in all popular languages. Including GalSimple.
Nevertheless, there's always someone who misses all the clues. Though in this case, they really had to work at it.
"Welcome to Vege-Inn, the only solely vegan restaurant in Wayside Station. Are you seeking fruits, nuts, barks, fungi, or leaves as your main meatless experience today?" The greeter's uniform was full of plants. The decor was plant-themed. The menu had pictograms of the main ingredients and allergen warnings. It should have taken a level of willful ignorance close to anti-godhood.
Nevertheless, the latest customer glared hir down and snapped, "I want a steak. A tomahawk steak." He didn't wait to be seated, just barged past to a table in the middle of the entire restaurant. "And don't be stingy with the mozarella sticks."
There were things like that on the menu, but the staff were already suspicious. No power of mortal mind or muscle was going to move him from his seat. No matter how rude anyone else told him he was being. A kindly smiling server offered the menu and said, "Did you mean nut-based, leaf-based, fungi-based, fruit-based, or bark-based steak? And do you prefer avocado or s'qiib based mozarella?"
He glared at hir as if he thought ze was stupid. "I. Want. A. Real. Steak! From a cow. You know? Big mammal? Horns. Goes 'moo'?" Of course he said all of this at maximum possible volume without actively shouting. He was aiming to offend.
Of course he was.
Everyone around him knew it, so they remained determined to not be offended by it.
"We don't stock those, sir. You might want to try Meatapalooza, the restaurant next door."
"What kind of restaurant never serves a customer their food?" he bellowed. "I want my food! I ordered a meal and I am a paying customer! I demand to see the manager! This is untenable!"
They were prepared for this, too. The manager appeared and informed him that he was sitting in the wrong zone. If he wanted his meat, he had to move to a completely different table. Which happened to be through a small corridor that lead into the heart of Meatapalooza.
The customer may always be right in matters of taste, but this one was most upset that he didn't offend anyone.
[Photo by Gastro Editorial on Unsplash]
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