With the GPS still not talking to Rigabold the pernicketness as he came into the town of Renmark, the smallish country town close to the border of South Australia and Victoria, it was down to him to find somewhere to get himself something to eat.
By the time he got to the first roadhouse, which was on the opposite side of the road to the one he was travelling on and therefore more of an annoyance to get to than it was worth, he’d given up any chance of getting a Chiko Roll, or ten. Because Earthlings weren’t as advanced as Tumcuddulan’s they just weren’t capable of seeing the benefits of such a wonderful food for the first meal of the day. So unless he could find himself an eatery that had the fryers on for breakfast he knew he would be settling for something else.
Driving past the roadhouse Rigabold headed into what he supposed they called the business district, according to the maps he could get the GPS to display there was a river at the end of the road he was on and that usually meant some sort of eatery. Of course there was the possibility that the GPS with an attitude was trying to fool him, it had already made the maps nearly impossible to ready, it’s pettiness could extend to showing him an incorrect map. He decided it didn’t matter he was following his nose and that was good enough.
Less than a minute later, at the end of the road, Rigabold tuned right, drove less than one three hundredth of a quagnackle and found himself a small cafe that were open and looked like they’d be read to serve him what others heading in there would call breakfast.
Rigabold chose to sit on the footpath out the front of the cafe to enjoy his feast, it was a fine clear morning and although there was a few people wandering around they all seemed to be minding their own business. He would have preferred to sit closer to the river and enjoy the sounds of the water running past breaking the silence but the cafe apparently didn’t deliver across the road so he sat at one of the tables the cafe provided.
It only took the cafe staff eleven minutes too deliver his breakfast which consisted of two egg, bacon, cheese and beef burgers, two slices of something called fruit toast, a mug of coffee and a vanilla milkshake. When the girl from in the store delivered his meal she did ask him if he was expecting company to help eat what he’d ordered, however by the look on her face after he said no Rigabold could tell it was not an answer she was expecting. Still she smiled happily and left him to his breakfast.
It turned out the fruit toast was exactly as it was described, bread with fruit in it cooked until brown in a toaster. Rigabold wasn’t sure by sight alone what fruit it contained but it didn’t matter because with the melted butter seeping through it, it tasted wonderful anyway. The breakfast burgers were pretty darn good as well, they weren’t as good as Chiko Rolls and did not have the nutritional value of Chiko Rolls but nonetheless splurging on a less than healthy meal occasionally wasn’t a huge deal.
One thing Rigabold couldn’t understand was the need some humans, quite few when you got down to the nitty gritty figures, had for caffeine. It did taste good but it had no addictive effects, it didn’t keep people awake and it didn’t make people feel better, it was simply a beverage that was made for drinking. Scientific evidence was even given by Tumcuddulan’s, secretly by way of the worlds smartest scientists, but it was ignored by the general population. It seemed that just like the irrefutable proof that the world was indeed flat and not spherical, the lack of benefits of caffeine were ignored because people didn’t want to know the truth.
The vanilla milkshake was much better than the coffee, in fact it was probably better than any vanilla moojuice he could have gotten himself on Tumcuddula. It was one of those cases where the simple way really did make a different. On Tumcuccula they took the vanilla bean and mixed it with other natural sweeteners trying to find the perfect way in which to present vanilla to moojuice. But it had been less that successful and in a hundred millennia they had not improved on what Earthlings knew to work. It had gotten so that getting a plain vanilla moojuice was impossible because there was a new blend of it always coming out. So like many Earth people had worked out when a product is advertised as “new Improved formula” there is not always truth in advertising.
As Rigabold sipped his vanilla milkshake through a straw he looked out towards the river. It was a quiet morning, birds played in the park no doubt on and endless hunt for food, people strolled back and forth along the river’s edge and the grassed area and dogs ran about chasing balls or sticks their owners had thrown for them. All in all it was an amazingly peaceful place despite the fact that if he tried he thought he’d could sixty, maybe even seventy, people just within his viewing area.
The sun had rising politely in the eastern sky, it was just over the horizon and offering up some new day warmth with a good dose of brightness that had humans either wearing glasses or squinting to hold back the sting of the bright rays. Rigabold wasn’t as unfortunate as either group, he didn’t need sunglasses but he also didn’t find himself squinting because his eyes had self tinting which took over the instant things got too bright.
Had it not been for the self tinting feature of the Tumcuddulan eye Rigabold wouldn’t have had a clear view of the two men who suddenly appeared before him. These two well dressed men in their suits obviously knew how difficult standing between their target and the sun made it for the human eye to focus and they were playing on it. If only they knew Rigabold wasn’t human they might not have not willing lost the one advantage they thought they had.
“Good Morning Sir,” The shorter one said. “We’re from the Festival Of Life and we are here to save your soul!”