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Neopedia : Gourmet Club

"Alms for the poor, sir?" the scruffy Aisha begged.

"Not today," the well-dressed patron replied as he turned to enter Gourmet Club, Neopia's most exclusive eatery.

"Madam, might you spare some NP to help those less fortunate?" the Kyrii asked, while doffing his cap.

"Get a job, nuisance!" the old Acara shot back.

"I can't believe it," Bartol the Aisha said. "Why, if I were wealthy, I'd enjoy my money, instead of going around like some tight-fisted miser!" Just then, the beggars spotted another well-to-do socialite, decked out in a stunning ensemble of jewels and furs. By her side was a young Usul, scrawling feverishly into a notepad. As they got closer, Bartol and his friend, Clifton the Kyrii, listened to hear what they were saying.

"Yes, Miss Tobik," the Usul said. "Tomorrow, you've got a meeting at nine, lunch with a client at eleven, a conference to attend at two, and a..."

"Ugg!" Miss Tobik shouted, unable to believe her eyes. "It's that filthy scamp, Tara Rebholz! I despise her with a passion. We'll have to dine elsewhere..."

"Ma'am," the assistant protested. "Gourmet Club is Neopia's finest restaurant. Getting a reservation here took weeks!"

"I don't care HOW long it took!" Tobik replied angrily. "Just the thought of being NEAR that festering boil Rebholz makes my skin crawl! C'mon... I know this place, about a block or so from here, that's just as good."

"Hey, did you hear that?" Bartol asked, while nudging his pal in the ribs. "I think I've got an idea!"

In a cloud of dust and body odour, Bartol and Clifton waltzed through the front door, demanding to be seated. "Erm, excuse me!" a stuffy Techo, who happened to be the maitre d', said in a rather gruff tone. "May I HELP you?!?"

"Sure, old chum," Bartol said with a smirk. "The name's Tobik, party of two... you DO have our table ready, right?"

The maitre d' looked in his register, and much to his amazement, there it was: Tobik (2). He had no choice but to show them to their table...

"Let the chuffing begin!" Clifton shouted while the waiter laid out their first course, a delicious Streaky Spinach Salad. Forgoing the use of silverware (or, for that matter, table etiquette) the starving duo dove face-first into their salad bowls. Soon, a chorus of slurping and lip smacking filled the room. "Um... ith tho... tathty!" Clifton grunted, while fully engorged in the salty goodness of his leafy green feast. By now, Bartol had picked up his bowl and begun licking up the last of his salad dressing. Convinced that he'd lapped up the rest of his zesty vinagrette, the Aisha let out a whopping...

BELCH!!!

That's when a Zafara, who happened to be sitting a few of tables away, stood up and said, rather loudly, "Ahem... EXCUSE me!"

Unfazed by the Zafara's protest, Clifton reached for the half-eaten loaf of Kraku Bread they'd been munching on, and promptly threw it at her head. "There's no excuse for you... crusty old windbag! Now sit down and shut up, so us civilised folk can eat in peace!" As the waiter set down their next course, a well-done Bronto Roast smothered in homemade gravy and grilled onions, Clifton the Kyrii shook his head in disgust at the Acara's sudden outburst. "I say, some people just can't go out in public without making fools of themselves." With that, Clifton and Bartol resumed stuffing their faces...

..."Sir, would you care for dessert?" the waiter asked.

"Goodness, no!" Bartol declared. "If I even LOOK at another plate of food, I swear I'll burst."

"Uggh," Clifton groaned, "Flat-U-Less, anyone?"

"Very well," the waiter said. "I'll be right back with your bill."

And that's when it hit them... THE BILL! Their first instinct was to make a run for it, but after putting away five heaping courses of food, Bartol and Clifton could hardly stand, let alone run. Faced with no other option, they shamefully explained their situation to the waiter, and begged for mercy...


...As their punishment, the duo were forced to wash dishes until their debt was repaid. But after a few hours in the kitchen, Clifton didn't know how much more he could take. "My back aches, my paws hurt, and I'm dead tired... I've had about enough of this!"

Just then, Bartol saw the maitre d' come around the corner. "Erm, excuse me," the Aisha asked, "How much longer do we have to do this, until our bill's paid?"

The maitre d' looked at their bill, counted in his head for a moment, then replied, "Oh, approximately three and a half months...."