In a quaint morning breakfast and café on the corner of

“Here is your soup, Sir.”

Peter Stootman straightened his polka-dotted tie with a grin plastered across his cheek that almost reached the edges of his full moon glasses. A blinding golden plate shone proudly on the chest of his $3000 suit and in bold black letters in wrote Employee of the Month. He carefully picked up the ‘soup’ spoon (a dinner spoon would not be tolerated!), and dipped it into the pale liquid. He brought it to his mouth and took a succinct sip of the creamy soup. Peter closed his eyes with his eyebrows raised. He looked up at his ruby-lipped waitress with the haughty smirk on his face.

“Ah,” he briefly glanced at her nametag, “Betty, did the cook per chance put milk in this?” Any second now she would be gasping in amazement at his sheer brilliance and superior taste buds.

            She stared dully at the costumer. “…No.”

His face fell. He was never wrong. He was Peter Snootman, Employee of the Month!! The ‘employee of the month’ put the woman’s incompetence at fault.

            He laid a dollar tip on the checker matted table. “Yes, well, I suggest you check with the cook next time before answering one of such,” gold plate gleamed in the light, “high standards.”

            “I am the cook.”

            The corner of Mr. Snootman’s mouth twitched irritably. “I see. Then, may I advise changing your recipe next time, hmm? The costumer is always right! Ta ta now!” He stiffly, but quickly, rose from his chair and marched out the door, and his dignity with him. The door closed behind him with a ring.

The waitress, actually the chef, muttered a particularly profane word and continued in wiping the table with a rag.

-Raimu-