The Secret Spice, located on the corner of Mushroom and Main, in Toad
Town, was a popular Italian Restaurant. It was praised for its villa-styled
internal courtyard, where diners could enjoy the fresh air, beautiful
trees, and Italian music.
Another thing that attracted people to The Secret Spice was its excellent service. The food was always very good, and the waiters performed a unique gimmick: they would dance to the music, while holding trays on their hands and head, all the way to the customer's table. It was perfect every time.
Well, almost every time.
"Penne Pasta with garlic bread!" roared the bloated chef. Kid Koopa scurried through the kitchen, altogether hidden beneath cooks and tables. He squeezed through people's legs, muttering "'scuse me," as he went, until he reached the chef's table.
"That's for my table," he said, his voice squeaky and timid.
The chef glared down at him, and grunted assent. Kid climbed to the top of the table, claimed the dish, and hopped down.
"Oh, hey, hey, Kid!" the chef shouted. He produced another plate. "Grilled chicken with a side of Caesar salad?"
Kid nodded. The chef set the plate on his other arm. He turned and left, but the chef tapped his shoulder. "Don't forget the soup," he said, plopping the hot bowl on Kid's head.
Kid swerved towards the door. On the way, he bumped into Billy Koopa, his older brother, washing dishes.
"Hey, Kid," said Billy, stretching his wings. "Tonight's the Waltz, right?"
"Yeah," Kid groaned. "I'm in no condition to do it."
Billy looked at Kid's three dishes, hardly balanced. "You'll be fine," he said.
Kid burst out into the courtyard, which was alive with music and talk. He sighed, watching his table, on the other end. "Here goes," he said.
He stepped forward nimbly, counted silently, and continued with his other foot, counted, and spun. The soup began to slip from his head, and he nearly lost his footing, but quickly recovered, allowing the soup to settle down. He suddenly realized that the customers at his table were watching him, expecting perfection that was akin to the restaurant's reputation. He continued, showing no sign of his previous stumble.
He nearly cleared the courtyard when, during a spin, he tripped on the coattail of a man's coat, and stumbled forward, losing the soup. It flew straight into the face of the woman at his table. He lost all control, tripped over his own shoes, and crashed into the table, spilling marinara sauce and Caesar dressing all over the tablecloth and shattering the wooden legs.
Hearing the commotion, Billy rushed out, but his body was thoroughly rinsed in soapy water. He slipped on the slick marble path, and hid in his shell as it spun across the courtyard, knocking down tables in its wake, finally stopping at the stage, knocking the musicians down onto the grass.
Billy crawled out of his shell. "Are you all right, Kid?" he mumbled.
"Yes," Kid groaned. "But our boss isn't."
From the kitchen door, the Manager was screaming.
* * *
"You little runts have been nothing but trouble since the day I hired you!" the Manager roared furiously. "I should've known better than going with my emotion and hiring you off the street! Now look!"
He paced around the office, screaming and shaking his fists, while Billy and Kid sat across his desk in tiny chairs, terrified. Suddenly, the Manager whirled and slammed his fists in the desk, glaring at the two koopas. "Do you have any idea how much your little stunt cost me?" he growled. "Well, I'll tell you! That couple whose evening you ruined? Suing us for destruction of property and medical bills for the lady's burns! Those other customers? Spooked from the restaurant and most definitely telling their friends about our poor service! Those musicians? Never playing here again!" He stood up and kicked his desk, elevating it for a moment. "And it'll take months to clean up the courtyard and purchase the required number of new tables!"
"Um, sir?" Kid said meekly, slowly raising his hand. "I know you're firing us, so could you please let us leave now?"
The Manager laughed forcefully. "Oh, no, no, no," he said. "Getting fired is not enough for you. Who's paying for all the damage that you caused? Not me! You'll pay it off if it takes you the rest of your lives!"
* * *
"Well, that could have gone worse."
Billy and Kid had walked out the back door, and were standing in the alley. It was nearly midnight, and it was empty and dark.
"Yeah," Kid replied unhappily, kicking a crumpled can. "He might've made turtle soup out of us and served it as a lunch special."
"Oh, c'mon Kid," said Billy, flying several feet above his brother's head. "So you screwed up... it happens to everyone. It's no big deal."
"'No big deal?'" Kid cried, glaring angrily at Billy. "I cost us our first job in months, and now we have a huge debt on our shoulders! There's no way we can find something else to do!"
Billy was silent for a while. They turned a corner, and entered Main Street. Like the alley, it was completely empty. "You don't know that," he said finally.
"Oh, yes I do. 90% of the business owners around here discriminate against us koopas. And the remaining 10% won't hire us because we're too small and clumsy."
"Well, remember that bill Parliament passed a few months ago? It made discrimination illegal. Trust me, we'll find something."
"Oh, so now that it's officially illegal, all the business owners will suddenly stop hating us and open their doors to the Koopa."
"Why are you so pessimistic?"
"Because I'm tired of being pushed around!" Kid roared. His voice echoed down the street. The silence that followed was piercing. Kid collapsed on the ground, and sobbed in his hands. "I'm tired of being poor... I'm tired of being hated... I'm tired of being a nobody."
Billy touched down and hugged him tightly. "We'll think of something," he whispered.
Another thing that attracted people to The Secret Spice was its excellent service. The food was always very good, and the waiters performed a unique gimmick: they would dance to the music, while holding trays on their hands and head, all the way to the customer's table. It was perfect every time.
Well, almost every time.
"Penne Pasta with garlic bread!" roared the bloated chef. Kid Koopa scurried through the kitchen, altogether hidden beneath cooks and tables. He squeezed through people's legs, muttering "'scuse me," as he went, until he reached the chef's table.
"That's for my table," he said, his voice squeaky and timid.
The chef glared down at him, and grunted assent. Kid climbed to the top of the table, claimed the dish, and hopped down.
"Oh, hey, hey, Kid!" the chef shouted. He produced another plate. "Grilled chicken with a side of Caesar salad?"
Kid nodded. The chef set the plate on his other arm. He turned and left, but the chef tapped his shoulder. "Don't forget the soup," he said, plopping the hot bowl on Kid's head.
Kid swerved towards the door. On the way, he bumped into Billy Koopa, his older brother, washing dishes.
"Hey, Kid," said Billy, stretching his wings. "Tonight's the Waltz, right?"
"Yeah," Kid groaned. "I'm in no condition to do it."
Billy looked at Kid's three dishes, hardly balanced. "You'll be fine," he said.
Kid burst out into the courtyard, which was alive with music and talk. He sighed, watching his table, on the other end. "Here goes," he said.
He stepped forward nimbly, counted silently, and continued with his other foot, counted, and spun. The soup began to slip from his head, and he nearly lost his footing, but quickly recovered, allowing the soup to settle down. He suddenly realized that the customers at his table were watching him, expecting perfection that was akin to the restaurant's reputation. He continued, showing no sign of his previous stumble.
He nearly cleared the courtyard when, during a spin, he tripped on the coattail of a man's coat, and stumbled forward, losing the soup. It flew straight into the face of the woman at his table. He lost all control, tripped over his own shoes, and crashed into the table, spilling marinara sauce and Caesar dressing all over the tablecloth and shattering the wooden legs.
Hearing the commotion, Billy rushed out, but his body was thoroughly rinsed in soapy water. He slipped on the slick marble path, and hid in his shell as it spun across the courtyard, knocking down tables in its wake, finally stopping at the stage, knocking the musicians down onto the grass.
Billy crawled out of his shell. "Are you all right, Kid?" he mumbled.
"Yes," Kid groaned. "But our boss isn't."
From the kitchen door, the Manager was screaming.
* * *
"You little runts have been nothing but trouble since the day I hired you!" the Manager roared furiously. "I should've known better than going with my emotion and hiring you off the street! Now look!"
He paced around the office, screaming and shaking his fists, while Billy and Kid sat across his desk in tiny chairs, terrified. Suddenly, the Manager whirled and slammed his fists in the desk, glaring at the two koopas. "Do you have any idea how much your little stunt cost me?" he growled. "Well, I'll tell you! That couple whose evening you ruined? Suing us for destruction of property and medical bills for the lady's burns! Those other customers? Spooked from the restaurant and most definitely telling their friends about our poor service! Those musicians? Never playing here again!" He stood up and kicked his desk, elevating it for a moment. "And it'll take months to clean up the courtyard and purchase the required number of new tables!"
"Um, sir?" Kid said meekly, slowly raising his hand. "I know you're firing us, so could you please let us leave now?"
The Manager laughed forcefully. "Oh, no, no, no," he said. "Getting fired is not enough for you. Who's paying for all the damage that you caused? Not me! You'll pay it off if it takes you the rest of your lives!"
* * *
"Well, that could have gone worse."
Billy and Kid had walked out the back door, and were standing in the alley. It was nearly midnight, and it was empty and dark.
"Yeah," Kid replied unhappily, kicking a crumpled can. "He might've made turtle soup out of us and served it as a lunch special."
"Oh, c'mon Kid," said Billy, flying several feet above his brother's head. "So you screwed up... it happens to everyone. It's no big deal."
"'No big deal?'" Kid cried, glaring angrily at Billy. "I cost us our first job in months, and now we have a huge debt on our shoulders! There's no way we can find something else to do!"
Billy was silent for a while. They turned a corner, and entered Main Street. Like the alley, it was completely empty. "You don't know that," he said finally.
"Oh, yes I do. 90% of the business owners around here discriminate against us koopas. And the remaining 10% won't hire us because we're too small and clumsy."
"Well, remember that bill Parliament passed a few months ago? It made discrimination illegal. Trust me, we'll find something."
"Oh, so now that it's officially illegal, all the business owners will suddenly stop hating us and open their doors to the Koopa."
"Why are you so pessimistic?"
"Because I'm tired of being pushed around!" Kid roared. His voice echoed down the street. The silence that followed was piercing. Kid collapsed on the ground, and sobbed in his hands. "I'm tired of being poor... I'm tired of being hated... I'm tired of being a nobody."
Billy touched down and hugged him tightly. "We'll think of something," he whispered.