Something I Don't Know

23: the customer is (not) always right

The first shipment of tourists arrives on Friday.

When I say shipment, I mean shipment. At least ten, though ten is probably largely undercounting it, massive tour buses stream in through the interstate in the morning. No one knows where they came from, or who is on them, or how long they will be here. All anyone knows is that they slowly drive around the whole city, stopping at hotels, dumping loads and loads of people off on the sidewalks. I haven't seen any of them too closely, but God, the air's just human, human, human. I smell it, I sense it, I hear it. They're everywhere.

Needless to say, when I arrive at work that morning, I'm not in a good mood.

River notices. Of course he notices. He looks up from drying off a teacup with a towel as I come in, the bell dinging above my head. "You are not in a good mood," he observes. "Why aren't you in a good mood? It's Friday."

I walk by him, hanging my coat up on the hook behind the counter. "It feels more like Judgement Day."

I glance around for Rob, but he's nowhere to be seen, so chances are he's holed up in his office or out buying more supplies. The sign on the door's flipped to open, but the teahouse is quiet, the floor cushions and arm pillows and tatami mats seemingly less homely without people sitting in them.

Once I have my apron tied around my waist, River hands me a towel. "Is it because of the humans?"

I pick up a teacup and scowl at him. "Isn't it always?"

River's extremely green eyes float away from my face and towards the cup in his hand. He's smiling at something. I don't know what. Well, literally, it's the teacup. What he's really thinking about, I can't tell. It's impossible to tell, unless you're witchy, like Midge. "They're harmless."

I think back to the zoo, which, now, is mostly open, save for the stupid Demi-Human Exhibit thing, which doesn't open till next week. I have to figure out a plan before then. I'd promised Jamie I'd figure out a plan before then. "Are they?" I ask River. "I understand that some of them mean well, but in the real world, intention doesn't matter so much as action."

River scoffs. "Not always."

"Okay, fine," I snap, setting the teacup down so suddenly that River and I both freeze in fear that I've broken it. I haven't, thank God. Rob would have my head. Possibly in the literal sense. "Say someone steals your last Pocky stick, or something. Are you gonna care what their intention was, or are you gonna care that you were gonna eat that last blueberry Pocky, and now you never will?"

"First off," says River, "I'd never be that upset about blueberry Pocky—chocolate, maybe. Second off, maybe whoever stole it needed it to feed his child."

I roll my eyes at him. Leave it to River to examine every single thing from every single side until you don't even want to think about it anymore. Also, chocolate Pocky over blueberry Pocky? Is he clinically insane?

I just don't know how I stand him. He must have grown on me without me noticing. "Sure," I counter, "but he still stole—"

"It's a Pocky stick. It's not even the size of a human finger. I can go without."

"Oh, how I loathe you, pixie."

He winks at me. "I'm aware."

River leaves me to do the rest of the dishes, which I only allow because he's been working here longer than me and is technically my superior—in this area, at least. I could probably beat him in an arm wrestle or in Jenga or in a classic battle of wits. This time, though, I let him win, and he starts prepping the kitchen while I finish cleaning up.