New York Carnival

Memory Transcription Subject: Rosi, Yotul Housewife

Date [standardized human time]: November 20, 2136

I clapped the sides of my face with my paws to try and get my head back into the right place. David needed a Yotul server. Fine. I could wait tables. I just needed to know where everything was.

"Alright," I said, putting my proverbial business hat on. "What do we have in stock today?"

David blinked. "Sorry, like in the walk-in fridge, or are you asking for our All Day numbers?"

I didn't know what the second thing was, so I just nodded. "Yeah. Fridge and pantry. I need to know what the kitchen has in stock so I can tell the customers what kinds of bread toppings you can make."

"Bread toppings? What?" David asked quizzically. "No, Rosi, we open in forty minutes. The ingredients are all already pre-prepped."

My snout rankled in confusion. "Wait, pre-prepped? How do you know in advance what people are going to order?" I put a paw to my face in surprise as the obvious explanation hit me. "Wait, no, I got it. You guys are coastal, like I am, so I assumed you were doing lots of little fresh dishes on bread like my culture does. Like the bruschetta? But it's cold in New York, so you probably run your taverns like in Nikolo's homeland." I nodded towards the big pot Eddie was tossing vegetables into. "Alright, what's the stew for today?"

"The stew?" David repeated, baffled. "Wait, the stew? Like, singular?"

"Pozole Verde," answered Eddie, continuing to toss vegetables into the steaming stock pot. "I made it vegan for you guys. Beans and corn, tomatillos and green chiles."

I nodded. "Got it. So one bowl of stew per customer, and where do we keep the bread for--"

David made a loud clicking noise with his clawless fingertips. "Okay, Rosi? I think we maybe need to back up a bit. I forgot you've never eaten here during normal business hours. What you're describing sounds like some kind of mish-mash between a tapas bar and a medieval tavern, I think? Which I would actually love to hear more about, but in the interest of time, I need to bring you up to speed on how this restaurant works."

"Right," I said. "You guys are humans. Different dining culture."

David sighed with relief. "Glad to have you back on the same page."

I looked around the kitchen, but couldn't find what I needed. "Where do you keep the blood, then? Is it behind the bar with the other beverages, or…?"

"Left freezer," said Eddie, not looking up. "It's the door with the snowflake and the steak symbol next to it."

"Freezer?" I said, perking up. That didn't sound like the right business choice at all. "I thought this place was upscale. You only serve frozen blood, not fresh?"

"We don't serve blood for drinking, Rosi!" David sputtered.

Chiri ducked her head into the kitchen. "Why not? That sounds rad as hell."

David rubbed his face in exasperation. "Municipal health code, multiple sets of religious laws, and the human tendency to generally prefer cooked food to raw."

I nodded and tried to let my momentum carry me forward. I'd probably get abruptly sick to my stomach if I stopped to think about it too much. "Okay, so… chunks of grilled meat, then? For the human customers, at least. Where do you keep--"

David abruptly opened the oven-looking thing I'd been huddling next to for warmth, revealing a wire rack packed full of whole fish. They were dead and beginning to look dessicated. The eyes were horrifying! Pale white and deflated, like a sack with too little flour. The scent was death, the dried sea filth smell of a harbor mixed with the smoke of a burning orchard after the exterminators chased someone's illegal Hensa out into it. I wanted to throw up or flee, but I found myself just backpedaling into the corner.

"Don't stand on that side of the kitchen," David said, closing the smoke-oven again. I glanced behind me at the counter, spotted a long, thin knife caked in weird fluids and loose fish scales, and put the details together. I scampered back over towards the door, Chiri, and safety. She had a reassuring paw on my shoulder almost immediately.

"That can't possibly have been necessary, David," said Chiri, disapproving.

David shook his head. "She was in a loop. I had to startle her out of it. Is your head sufficiently reset, Rosi?"

I nodded frantically.

"Great. Cool. So we have a menu," said David. "It's pretty similar to the one from the baseball game, but with a few more options since we've got a full kitchen and several cooks."

"That's me," said Eddie, deadpan, continuing to chop. "I'm several cooks."

Stolen story; please report.

David rubbed his face in exasperation. "It's a fucking Tuesday, Eddie. You know we have more people here later in the week when it's busier."

"Here," Chiri said to me, quietly. "You've still got a Federation model holopad, right? Hang on, lemme pull the menu up for you." A few quick taps on my pad showed a list of food items, but Chiri's brow was furrowed. "This… doesn't look like the language we tested it in," she said. "This doesn't even look like the same alphabet." She looked up at David. "Hey, David, I think there's a software glitch in the localization…"

I shook my head. "No, Chiri, it's not…" I sighed. I didn't want to bring attention to this, but it was the right thing for the business, and helping the business succeed was how I proved myself here. "Look, the Yotul homeworld was in the process of being unified. There's no singular Yotul people yet with a single language." I flipped my language setting back to the standard one to demonstrate. "The Federation picked a unified language for us, but I'm not from that country, and neither is my husband. It's a second language for most Yotul at this point. It'll be another generation or two before it's universal." I sighed. "Or it would have been if the U.N.'s clash with the Federation hadn't derailed it all."

David clapped his hands together in understanding. "Okay, Yotuls still have distinct national identities! Got it. So do we. I can work with that. So Rosi, in your home country, tavern fare is…"

"Beer or wine to drink, and then bread or dumplings, with a variety of little dishes to put on top of them," I finished. "Usually spreads, dips, fresh-chopped vegetable medleys like your bruschetta, or preserved things like pickles or jam in the colder months." Not like we'd had refrigeration until the Federation had given it to us, so food had to be made shelf-stable through the winter the old-fashioned way.

David's face lit up with excitement. "Okay, great, very Mediterranean, I can work with that. And your husband's home country? Tavern fare there is…?"

I shrugged, trying to remember clearly. "Never been, but from what he's told me, bread, spicy stew to dip it in, and a King's Cup."

David looked to Chiri, who shrugged. "Okay, I'll bite: what's a King's Cup?" David asked.

"Uhhh…" I began, trying to remember. "Toasted grain tea or hot water, a dollop of jam dissolved into it, and a splash of distilled spirits? It's pretty popular even in nearby countries like mine when it gets cold enough."

David glanced over at Chiri, who snorted and began fiddling with her holopad's notetaking app. "Already adding it to the drinks menu," she said. "Whisky sound right, or should I do gin for the botanicals?"

"Whisky or brandy," said David, thinking aloud. "If the mixer is herbal tea, just add the botanicals there. If brown spirits are too busy, switch to vodka or aquavit, and start tinkering with milder botanical infusions." Despite all the tech he was wearing and carrying, David glanced at a large physical clock mounted on the kitchen wall. "Half hour to service. I wanna quick test out a mezze platter. Maybe some banchan? Eddie, can you handle the first couple tickets on your own?"

The younger human shrugged. "Probably. You're right behind me if I can't, right Chef?"

David nodded decisively. "Always."

The rear door opened and closed audibly, and… frankly, the oldest human I'd ever seen walked in. I didn't even realize humans got that old! Federation doctrine said that predators culled the weak and infirm, their elders included. Quite a few of the human leaders had the look of distinguished elder statesmen, though, but maybe they were aristocracy or something, and got exemptions. I hadn't ever expected to see a wizened human restaurant employee.

"Oh thank God," said David, beckoning the older woman over. "Sylvie, this is Rosi. Rosi, this is Sylvie."

Sylvie smiled curtly, and held out her hand for me to take. Her hair was a mottled ash-gray and curled like Venlil wool, and her skin was weathered, but the color of good earth and loam after a rain. I had to actively remind myself that she was a human, because every ounce of her energy made me think she was the abstract concept of a very tenured grade school teacher given physical form. The kind that would flunk an entire class if she thought they deserved it, and then dare the school board to fire her if anyone's parents raised a stink about it. I was immediately intimidated, but in a very different and unique way from, say, David. Or even Eddie! Honestly, by comparison, I was starting to suspect that Eddie wouldn't eat me even if he was starving. He already knew where all the food was in the freezers, and butchering me would be way more work than just warming something up. Not lazy, per se, just low on shits to give.

"Rosi, I want you to shadow Sylvie for the first hour or so to get the feel of things," said David.

My fur bristled. "I know how to wait tables at a restaurant," I insisted.

Sylvie's eyes locked in on mine, but she said nothing initially. I looked around behind me in a panic, half-wondering what she was staring at. Did I have something on my fur?

"How does a guest get a server's attention?" Sylvie said at last.

That was not in the top twenty questions I'd been expecting. "Uhhh…" I began awkwardly. "Ear flick? Maybe a specific chitter noise if they aren't paying attention?"

Sylvie's head gave the tiniest shake no. "Human ears are not generally gesticulatory, nor do we chitter. Humans indicate the focus of our attention with our eyes. A guest who wants something from you will simply stare."

Sylvie abruptly turned away and stared at something else. I followed her line of sight, and… I blinked. I could tell she was looking at the cookpot as easily as if she were pointing. Her eyes flicked back to me, silently asking a question. "Soup of the day is Pozole Verde," I said, hoping I'd gotten the pronunciation right.

Sylvie nodded slightly, and her eyes flicked over to a rack of dark aprons hanging in the corner by the back door.

"...and I am out of uniform," I said, realizing that everyone else in the building, Chiri included, was wearing an apron except me. I scrambled to put one on. Thankfully, humans weren't too much taller than me. "Right. Customers won't even realize I work here."

"We do not have customers," said Sylvie. "We have guests. And the first step towards excellence in service is understanding the guests' wants and needs." Sylvie nodded, and her eyes flicked over to the locker I was standing next to. I put my bag inside next to, presumably, hers. "You have a lovely purse, Rosi. Make a point of showing up tomorrow with the rest of the outfit. Even Chiri doesn't show up to work nude anymore."

I froze partway through adjusting the tie on my apron. That was a new emotion for me. Self-consciousness that I was underdressed.