Happy Hour
Milliways had undergone some serious redecorating since I'd been there last, but I recognized the place as soon as I arrived. After all, it's the only bar I know of that hijacks its guests - which it'd just done to me - and the Observation Window was still there.
My door seemed to have run off on me. I figured the Bar was the best chance I had of getting some answers, so I headed over and demanded some. "What the hell is going on here, why's my Door gone and why am I in this monkey suit?"
I didn't get the expected napkin note. Instead I got a little machine under a glass dome whirring and clicking out a narrow strip of paper, with the following printed on it:
.-.. .- ... - -- .. -. ..- - . -.-. .- -. -.-. . .-.. .-.. .- - .. --- -. -. . . -.. -... .- .-. - . -. -.. . .-.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.
In response there came a hissing and ticking of gears from underneath the Bar. A small trapdoor opened on the bartop in front of me and a dumbwaiter came up. The only thing inside was a paper with a header reading "Morse Code Guide." On it were columns of letters and numbers lined up with patterns of dots and dashes.
With this, I was able to work out the Bar's message: LAST MINUTE CANCELLATION NEED BARTENDER. I'd pulled an emergency Happy Hour shift here once before, so I knew why this was a problem. I also understood why my Door was gone and, more importantly, how to get it back.
"Okay," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. "Okay. I'll cover. Just don't make a habit of this, all right?"
Your Bartender for This Evening's Happy Hour Is
Rick Schumann
SPECIALS:
Old-Fashioned
Society Cocktail
Gentleman's Club
My door seemed to have run off on me. I figured the Bar was the best chance I had of getting some answers, so I headed over and demanded some. "What the hell is going on here, why's my Door gone and why am I in this monkey suit?"
I didn't get the expected napkin note. Instead I got a little machine under a glass dome whirring and clicking out a narrow strip of paper, with the following printed on it:
.-.. .- ... - -- .. -. ..- - . -.-. .- -. -.-. . .-.. .-.. .- - .. --- -. -. . . -.. -... .- .-. - . -. -.. . .-.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.
In response there came a hissing and ticking of gears from underneath the Bar. A small trapdoor opened on the bartop in front of me and a dumbwaiter came up. The only thing inside was a paper with a header reading "Morse Code Guide." On it were columns of letters and numbers lined up with patterns of dots and dashes.
With this, I was able to work out the Bar's message: LAST MINUTE CANCELLATION NEED BARTENDER. I'd pulled an emergency Happy Hour shift here once before, so I knew why this was a problem. I also understood why my Door was gone and, more importantly, how to get it back.
"Okay," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. "Okay. I'll cover. Just don't make a habit of this, all right?"
Your Bartender for This Evening's Happy Hour Is
Rick Schumann
SPECIALS:
Old-Fashioned
Society Cocktail
Gentleman's Club