Meanwhile, restaurant adds a rat crepe option
“Yeaaaaah, so maybe it wasn’t a good idea? Maybe?”
The public relations manager of Crepeville tried to meet my eyes, but I avoided his black beady pupils. He was pulling a small handkerchief out of his pocket nearly every few seconds to wipe the buildup of sweat on his harsh widow’s peak.
“These sorts of things, they’re ambiguous,” he said. “We thought perhaps if we took ourselves off the market, people would want us more. We weren’t entirely wrong, but now we always get a lot of folks who demand to watch the cooks cook their crepes, and they’re always poking around their food to make sure there aren’t any cockroaches or rats inside.”
The manager showed me around the kitchen. Suddenly, I felt a stinging pain on my ankle and shot a look down. There was a rat biting me!
“There’s a rat in the kitchen!” The manager’s eyes went wide and he picked up the rat, stroking it.
“It’s just my pet rat! I’m sorry.” He uneasily stroked the rat, giving it a little kiss on the nose.
“It must be against code to have a pet rat in the kitchen, no?” The manager paused, then suddenly turned around, deftly tossing the rat all the way across the kitchen over the head of one of the cooks. It sailed through the air and plopped into a boiling pot of water across the way. I dropped my pen in amazement.
“It’s not a pet! It’s livestock!” The manager began jumping up and down, sweating — but this time leaving his handkerchief in his pocket.
“We’ve got a new menu item: RAT CREPES!” He began shaking all over. “That’s why we have rats, okay? Tell the dishrag you write for that.”
The manager leaned his hand over on a knife rack, his eyes as wide and white as golf balls. “Anything else?”
I’d seen all I needed to see. Forget it, Aaron; it’s Crepeville.
Written by: Aaron Levins — email@example.com
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)