The Official's Favorite Meal

Chapter 3

The Official’s Favorite Meal

20 years ago…

The blue reptilian business worker sat comfortably in a booth at his favorite restaurant, eating a big bowl of his favorite meal, fried rats floating in warm grease. Life was fairly easy, and fried rat grease soup was a simple pleasure he enjoyed once a week every week. The soup never disagreed with him (like so many other things did) and the head chef occasionally let him have seconds at a discount.

“No one likes this appalling waste; it’s the worst selling item on our menu.” The chef said in amazement as the blue reptilian business worker eagerly finished his second bowl.

“Well, I like it. In fact, when I come back here to eat this again, I hope it taste the same as it does today!” the blue reptilian business worker said laughing. He knew that soon, he wouldn’t be just a business worker, he would be the official.

20 years later…

The official, down on his luck, in a ridiculous amount of debt, his political career on the rocks, and reporters and journalists wanting every detail of his financial crisis, needed to get away from it all. He reminisced of his days as a business worker and how he used to visit that restaurant ever week to have a heaping bowl of grease with those fried rodents floating about in that oily broth.

He looked out his window. Through the red transparent glass he saw two rats scurry past some trash cans on the street. Each rat was approximately 5 feet in length and stood a little less than 4 feet tall.

“Those are some large rats!” The official said, his stomach growling. He imagined those rats floating in the grease inside a big bowl at his favorite restaurant. The restaurant was located near the edge of the city, in a completely different sector, but he was prepared to make the trip, he wanted his fried rat grease soup. More importantly, he wanted it tonight.

The official grabbed his coat and hat and went off down the sidewalk trying not to attract any unwanted attention to himself, particularly from news crews. The rats he saw from his window were still delving through the trash bags, looking for food.

The official stood still. The rats were clearly just as hungry as he was, if not more. He made a logical guess that if his favorite meal was fried rats floating in grease, then a rat’s favorite meal would be fried grease floating around in officials, or something like that.

“Greetings fellows!” he said, his voice shaking.

The rats turned, their beady eyes lit up from the street light reflecting off of them. The vermin hissed simultaneously, bearing their sharp yellow teeth and pounced in the direction of the official.

The official ran as fast as he could, stumbling upon the usual street debris; large rocks, urchins, carbonated drink cans and journalists.

“Can’t we talk about this?!” the official shouted, looking over his shoulder as he ran.

The large rats kept coming. They did not seem to be in the mood for talking. The only thing they seemed interested in was dinner.

The official didn’t look where he was going and ran right into the metal pole of a street light. He stumbled and fell, and the rats cornered him. He was about to be devoured by his favorite food.

There was a loud noise, thunderous footsteps, and a long grey arm pulled one of the rats into the air and into an open mouth. The official saw two long curved white teeth swing into the second rat, knocking it into the wall of a building. It all happened so suddenly, the official was so startled he tried standing up, only to fall right back down. He looked up, and paused, and then he felt comforted.

It was an elephant on patrol.

“Thank you, elephant!” the official said standing up.

The elephant grunted.

“Care to join me at my favorite restaurant? My treat.” The official generously offered.

“Shut up, loser.” The elephant barked as it slowly turned away heading up the street.

A while later, after walking in only the well lit areas and avoiding all potential rat infested areas, the official reached his destination, or at least he though so. This was where his favorite restaurant was, he didn’t forget, it had been twenty years, but he knew this was the location.

Yet the restaurant looked very different.

It was clean, uninviting, much like the hospital where the official spent a lot of his time due to his injuries.

It was very cold, and very sterile.

He entered, there were a few young folk scattered about at tables, clean white tables with clean white chairs. This place was nothing like it once was. It used to have wide and roomy booths with soft velvet cushions, and sturdy wooden tables. This whole place was white, yet there were not light fixtures on the ceiling. It was if the walls emanated a soft white glow. He wandered around, the people seemed to be enjoying their meals, but every time the official drew near to them, the leaned over as if they didn’t want the him to see what they were eating.

As the official walked around, looking around to find one thing that may have stayed the same, he almost walked right into the table of a person he was all too familiar with. It was the oddball herself, the girl with pale skin, dark feathery hair and black square glasses. She seemed to have just sat down with her tray in front of her. On the tray was a sandwich which seemed to have slices of turkey in it, a small round plastic container filled with macaroni and cheese, an average sized green apple, and a small plastic bottle of white milk.

She could tell the official was curious of her meal by the way he angrily starred at it. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” she said with a tone of condescending authority.

The official stewed in his anger, there were so many things wrong with this situation, and here he was, at his former favorite restaurant, where he had some of the greatest times of his life, standing before his greatest detractor, watching her eat a meal so unfamiliar to him, so disgustingly health-oriented.

He finally managed to gruffly snarl his opinion.

“No it does not look good! What is this poor excuse for a snack?!”

“It’s dinner.” She said cynically.

“Dinner?! What a laugh! Why, where are the fried rats? Where is the broth of grease?!” The official’s voice grew loud.

The girl took a bite of her sandwich, laughing to herself.

The official’s yelling and the girl’s laughter grew symbiotically.

“You’re disrespectful!” the official finally said as he stormed off. He didn’t need to take this; he was a high ranking official. If he wanted fried rat grease soup, he would simply demand it from the head chef.

He stood, leaning over the sparkling clean counter, trying to look back into the kitchen. There was nobody in sight. Perhaps this whole restaurant was automated. It wouldn’t be surprising. “Machines can’t stop me.” The official barked to himself.

He leapt over the counter and stomped into the kitchen, he looked all around, looking for who or what was creating healthy garbage. At the far end of the kitchen, there was what appeared to be a group of chefs huddled about. The official walked towards them with a strange uncomfortable feeling.

There looked as if there were eight chefs, all wearing white aprons, but one chef stood taller than the rest, and it sported a tall white chef’s hat. Stranger still, was the fact that the chefs were actually large rats, with thick black fur that stood on their hind legs. They stood about 5 feet tall. They spoke in monosyllable words, their favorite by far being “rat” when they felt daring, however, they would say “rat-rat” in quick succession. All in all, they were a very unique group of rat chefs. Just after a few seconds, they alerted themselves to the official’s presence.

“rat-rat” said the head chef rat.

The official readily picked up their language; which turned out to be a primitive form of English. The rest was smooth sailing, as the he effortlessly conversed with this horde of blacked furred mice.

They showed him how they made their food, and as it just so happens, wasn’t so bad once the official tried it. He enjoyed the green apples that they grew on, in their own word, trees. They let him sample all sorts of dishes, and the official was more than happy to go for seconds.

When he asked where the rats had come from, they brought out a small chart with various circles drawn on it. They pointed to one circle in the far right corner of the chart and said “rat”.

The official then pointed at the same circle and said “Earth”.

The rats nodded and then went straight back to work. They had orders to fill and customers to satisfy.

The official shoved his clawed hands in his pockets and walked back into the dining room. This little adventure hadn’t been so bad after all. A few blocks later he had almost reached his lair. He was just now passing this section where he was chased by those two rabid rats just an hour earlier. The official paused though. If it was just an hour ago from dinner time, then why did it look as if the sun was rising?

Running towards him from down the street was a cadet; he looked surprised to see the official, which was also strange because most cadets hardly showed any expression at all.

“Where’ve you been, sir?” the cadet asked anxiously.

‘I was at my old favorite restaurant for some dinner! Why do you ask? I’ve only been gone an hour.” The official explained.

“Sir, you’ve been gone for two days.” The cadet stated assertively.

The official stood there, utterly confused, he remembered the rats, and their words finally made sense.

“rat-rat” said the head rat.

“rat-rat”.

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