An Evening at Kelp

     The ceiling fan spun slowly, causing cool water to circulate throughout the office. Beneath it sat two figures, one of whom was the owner of the most famous underwater restaurant in Neopia, Kelp. He was a portly Maraquan Scorchio by the name of Percival, and he smiled politely as he listened to his visitor’s sales pitch.

     “It’s done wonders for Molten Morsels,” said Marshall the Tonu, his voice slightly distorted by the diving helmet he was wearing to facilitate breathing (Marshall was not a Maraquan native.)

     “Perhaps it would work in a place like Moltara, but this is Kelp, this is a refined establishment, our customers expect cuisine of a higher standard. We are a Bonju-starred restaurant for goodness’ sake!” replied Percival.

     “Just watch, I promise you won’t be disappointed!” said Marshall. He had been trying to get a sit-down meeting with Percival on the calendar for months and was not about to let it fall through without at least a demonstration of the device.

     He clicked a button on a remote control. In the corner of the room, a machine hummed gently as its gears and conveyor belts jolted to life. From what Percival could see, the machine appeared to be encased inside a protective bubble, probably because it was designed for Moltaran temperatures and moisture levels, which were about as far from Kelp as you could get.

     Marshall approached the side of the machine labelled “IN” and carefully placed several Lemwarts and a glass of soda water into a small airlock in the protective bubble. He sealed it up again. The airlock was drained of water, and the ingredients then tumbled unceremoniously into the machine. The noise from the machine intensified as it began to complete its task.

     “It won’t always be this loud!” yelled Marshall, struggling to communicate over the racket, “We are developing a new sound dampening bubble that will go around the aqua-protect bubble currently installed on the machine. Should give it a little more protection too, the current bubble is pretty vulnerable to sharp objects, so make sure to keep the area around it clear!”

     After less than 30 seconds, the sound subsided, and from the section of the machine labelled “OUT” rolled a perfectly constructed Lemwart Fizz, which was then retrieved my Marshall from another airlock in the bubble.

     “Try it if you like. Your whole menu is already programmed in,” said Marshall, handing the drink to Percival.

     “I’m not sure about this,” said Percival, as he tasted the machine-produced beverage. “I don’t think our customers would go for it if they knew it was made by a machine.”

     “I know that you can’t taste the difference. Your customers won’t be able to tell the difference either, and what they don’t know won’t hurt them,” said Marshall, upping the rhetoric.

     “I’m still not sure that something built for Moltara belongs here, and I can’t really see my mind changing on this issue, I’m afraid,” said Percival.

     Marshall was frustrated, but he didn’t let it show. He still had one ace left up his sleeve.

     “What are you currently spending on staffing?” asked Marshall.

     Percival raised an eyebrow.

      II - The Kitchen

     “I need three Angel Hair Salad, two turkey, one beef!” shouted Cassie.

     “Yes, Chef!” came the reply.

     Sweat ran down her forehead as she put the finishing touches on a Maraquan Cream Broth. It was a full house tonight, as it was every night, and Cassie had been prepping for hours before service. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t about to let anything adulterate this perfect dish before her, so she mopped the bead of sweat before it could drip anywhere.

     All through the kitchen, the staff at Kelp were working like a well-oiled machine, fins whirring like gears, plates moving as if on belts or pistons, turning ideas on a menu into tangible, edible, delicious food.

     Cassie had been head chef at Kelp for four years, and had overseen a complete reinvention of the menu, which had earned the restaurant its one Bonju star. Since then, waitlists had been long, and the kitchen no longer had any downtime. Cassie noticed that Percival, the owner, had also taken the opportunity to increase prices substantially, without increasing any wages. Cassie wasn’t that interested in the Bonju star (in fact, she wasn’t quite sure why people were still celebrating the opinions of the famous chef from Shenkuu – hadn’t he tried to push somebody overboard?) but she did care about her team, and she did care about making good food.

     The flood of incoming orders slowed slightly, so Cassie took the opportunity to move through the kitchen and check in with the team. She considered every one of them part of her family, and she took care to know their limits: she knew when she could push them, and she knew when she should back off.

     Her loop of the kitchen was interrupted by the arrival of Percival, the owner. He was followed by a Tonu in a diving helmet, rolling a strange machine encased in a bubble.

     Percival cleared his throat.

     The kitchen continued as if it hadn’t heard him.

     He cleared his throat again, louder this time, and said, “Good evening, everyone!”

     Again, the kitchen kept running, unhindered, like the well-oiled machine it was.

     Percival looked to Cassie, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

     Cassie whistled loudly, and the kitchen stopped abruptly and turned to her. She gestured towards Percival, redirecting their gaze.

     Percival gave Cassie a small gesture of gratitude, before starting again.

     “Good evening, everyone, I hope you are all well. This is just an announcement to let you know that, effective immediately, your services are no longer required, and you all may leave. Take your time gathering your things, and best wishes for the future.”

     Silence engulfed the kitchen for just a moment before mutters and murmurs of disbelief bubbled up.

     “What are you talking about?” asked Cassie, “All of us? How do you plan to operate this place, Percival? You and I both know you don’t know the first thing about food.”

     “Plans are in place, and you need not worry about that,” said Percival, glancing at the Tonu and the machine. “I thank you all for your service, but it’s time to go.”

     Cassie shook her head in disbelief. She had always thought Percival had no idea what he was doing, but this confirmed it. The rest of the kitchen looked to her for guidance as to their next moves.

     She sighed.

     “Well,” she said, looking directly at Percival, “Best of luck.”

     Then she swam out of the kitchen, and the rest of the staff followed, casting hard stares in the direction of Percival, who had already turned towards the machine, busily getting it set up.

      III - The Dining Room

     Joe checked his watch. Where were they? Didn’t they know Kelp only held your table for ten minutes? He had made this reservation a month in advance and wasn’t about to lose it because his mother and father had lost track of time.

     Just then, his parents ambled through the doors and Joe breathed a sigh of relief. Now that the full party of three had arrived, they could be seated. Joe approached the check-in counter and dinged the bell. From inside the kitchen, a harried looking Scorchio emerged, and rushed over to them.

     “Good evening, good evening, welcome to Kelp, let’s get you seated. My name is Percival and I will also be your waiter this evening.”

     As they moved across the dining room to their table, Joe couldn’t help but notice that this Scorchio, Percival, seemed to be the ONLY waiter this evening. Or the only anything this evening. Where was the rest of the staff?

     When he and his parents were seated, Percival took their orders (and seemingly the orders of every other table) then rushed back to the kitchen.

     “Happy birthday, Dad,” said Joe. “I hope you like the food here, it’s pretty fancy!”

     “Thanks son, this was a really thou-”

     His voice was cut off by an awful sound. A large machine of some sort seemed to be in motion within the kitchen, as that was where the sound was emanating from.

     Joe and his parents sat in silence, as the machine sound continued for minutes, filling the dining room.

     When there was a lull in the noise, Joe’s dad took the opportunity to finish his thought.

     “This was a great gift, thank you son! What have you been up to over the last few weeks?”

     “Well my chair recently broke, so I’ve been- ”

     The sound started up again, but Joe was determined to finish his sentence.

     “So I’ve been shopping for a stool!” he shouted over the din.

     “What’s that?” his mother yelled, shock written on her face. “He’s dropping out of school?!”

     “You’re bopping on a ghoul?” bellowed his father, confused. “I thought Ghost Bopper went to the Game Graveyard years ago?”

     “No, no, none of that,” shouted Joe, getting visibly frustrated, “What is going on here! This sound is destroying the ambiance!”

     Joe spotted Percival rushing about, delivering dishes to tables. He motioned to him.

     Percival pretended he hadn’t seen it.

     Joe motioned again, in a more animated way that was impossible to ignore.

     Percival rushed over.

     “What can I help you with, sir?” He asked quickly, but his attention was clearly elsewhere, as his eyes were darting all over the room.

     “I want to know the cause of this awful sound!” Joe demanded. “It’s ruining my dad’s birthday dinner!”

     Percival looked confused. “You want what to be made thinner?”

     Suddenly the sound coming from the kitchen shifted from the loud whirs of gears and clanks of conveyor belts to a sort of spluttering, choking sound. Percival somehow looked even more panicked and harried than before and rushed straight to the kitchen. Joe got up out of his seat and followed.

     They pushed the swinging doors open to see a machine in the middle of the room that appeared to be drawing in water from the space around it, forming a vortex in the centre of the kitchen, and pulling Joe and Percival in towards it. As he was drawn in against his will, Joe could see the remnants of some sort of protective bubble, collapsed, and rendered useless at the foot of the machine. Just before Percival and Joe could be sucked in themselves, the pressure equalised and the machine sat quiet, completely waterlogged, and ruined. The restaurant was totally silent, or it would have been, if not for Percival’s sobbing and the imperceptible sound of a window closing on the far side of the kitchen.

      IV – Outside

     The kitchen staff were still waiting around on the sand outside, unsure what to do next, swapping contact details in case any opportunities came up.

     Percival burst through the doors of the restaurant, eyes wide and panicked. The relief when he saw them was palpable.

     “Ah, great, you’re all still here! Change of plans! We need you back!” he chuckled nervously, “So you are all re-hired, effective immediately.”

     Cassie emerged from somewhere at the edge of the group.

     “Not so fast,” she said, before any of the other staff could react, “Sounds like you’re pretty desperate. What if we refuse? I mean, that dismissal was quite abrupt and unfair after all, so why should we help you?”

     “I can offer you all a three per cent increase in wages if you return to work immediately,” said Percival quickly, while nervously eyeing the growing number of patrons becoming restless while waiting for their food.

     “Make it five, and you have yourself a deal.”

     “Great, great, five it is! Shake on it?” Percival held his fin out.

     Cassie quickly pocketed the safety pin that she was still holding before taking Percival’s fin in hers.

     “Deal,” she said.

          -----------------------

     Marshall wheeled the waterlogged and now useless machine out through the back doors of the restaurant. What a waste. Why hadn’t he listened to everyone who told him running a machine designed for Moltara in Maraqua was never going to work? How much money had been spent on developing the purpose built aqua-protect bubble? He thought the key to success in business was to ignore the haters, but the haters kind of had a point.

     “Anyway,” he said to himself, “onwards and upwards.”

     He hailed a water taxi, loaded the machine into the back of it, and climbed into the cab.

     “Where to?” asked the driver.

     “The Golden Dubloon, please.”