More Protein

Tea Time with Argul Zetropole

A timed Frantic Writing story - the seed sentence was: “People want more protein these days, even at breakfast.”

This is the first story in the Mr. Zetropole series. The second story. “Freshly Laid Eggs” can be read here.

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People want more protein these days, even at breakfast. Argul Zetropole differed rather emphatically with this notion. He’d had enough of vague opinions or ideas being foisted onto the public as if it was some indisputable truth descended from a medical heaven populated by self congratulatory nutritionists and pompous wellness influencers. Dispensing meal advice as if it was revelation that the ignorant must bow and scrape before, and then ingest into their inflamed digestive system like some healing balm offered by the gods of nutrition to the bloated stomachs of the masses.

Argul refused to bow before this tiresome and endless flow of advice. No more, he thought, no more. Whatever happened to simple toast and tea and perhaps a dollop of marmalade for breakfast. Now he was bombarded with unwanted protein rich options. Improve brain function, increase thought capacity, eat more protein…on and on it went.

He sat in the mostly empty tea house feeling harassed by the breakfast menu open before him. Toast and tea was all he desired.

He pressed his hands against his temples, squeezing his cranium between his hands. His head throbbed with a strange pulsation he felt he must placate. He squeezed hard, with such force that his head seemed to deform and change shape from the pressure applied.

“Mr. Zetropole! What is happening?” shouted the waiter, who knew him well from his frequent visits to the establishment, and was fond of him for his generous tips. Rushing across the room and calling to him, he exclaimed, “Mr. Zetropole! Please stop! What are you doing… your… your head….” At that moment the part of the skull around the temples bent inward like rubber and the top of Argul’s head popped open like the lid of a kettle. He sat stock still, immobilized, his eyes glazed.

The waiter bent forward to peer into the skull. Within, there was bubbling and boiling and steam was beginning to rise from the opening. Argul Zetropole’s forehead was beaded with moisture and condensed droplets slowly slipped in rivulets down his face, parting around his nose and down his cheeks. The waiter picked up a teacup with a teabag draped inside. He said, “Don’t mind, eh, Argul,” as he took firm hold of Argul’s ear, lifting it, bending his head to one side so that boiling liquid poured out the top of the skull into the teacup.

Once the cup was full he leveled the head and with one deft movement, flipped the lid of the skull shut. Argul Zetropole’s eyes rolled like marbles in their sockets, then slowly settled again into an unmoving, unblinking stare.

The waiter sat down at the table and dipped the teabag up and down in the cup before removing it to the saucer. He added a half teaspoon of sugar and sat back, legs casually crossed, and slowly stirred the tea. He buttered a toast and laid it on a small plate beside the cup and saucer.

Minutes passed - the steaming cup had cooled slightly. Argul sat unmoving except that the top of his skull bounced slightly as bubbling steam escaped. Gradually, it settled and for several minutes there was no movement. The waiter continued waiting with relaxed patience.

Argul jerked imperceptibly, then opened and closed his eyes, then his mouth. He reached up and felt his skull. Then turned wondering eyes towards the waiter and asked, “What happened to me…why is my head so hot, my skull… it burns….”

The waiter pushed the cup forward as if in a casual gesture of asking, “Would you care for a sip?” Then, with a serious expression, “Don’t worry Argul, I have relieved the pressure you were feeling. Now relax, and enjoy a cup of tea, and a slice of toast.” Argul’s eyes widened with delight. He smiled at the waiter and then picking up the warm toast, leisurely dipped it into the hot liquid. “Now this is a wonderful breakfast” he thought to himself as he happily bit into the tea moistened toast.

To the waiter, he said in thanks, “Washrikkitosh.”

“Farno Farno” came the reply.