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For the most part, Grace tried not to eat outside of his soundproofed home. He knew that it was a private event– sort of like picking out boogers– and that his class would never let him live it down if they caught wind of him displaying such activities out in public.
He could picture it clearly:
“Teacher-Grace disgust, public-eater. Teacher-Grace have no shame”
The little pebbles would mock in chittering tones.
“Teacher-Grace is sure that he has time to teach? Or is he to busy shovelling food into face-hole?”
Unfortunately, Grace sorely missed eating his diner breakfast beneath the warm morning light of San-Francisco. A financial decision that was completely inappropriate for his teaching pay-grade.
He missed eating his bacon whilst he watched tiny glimpses of lives flutter by him, the rushed office workers sculling hot coffee, the families enjoying lazy mornings together, the elderly couple who sat across from him every morning as they had been, seemingly, since time itself began.
He missed quickly eating his lunch whilst on duty, pretending that he wasn’t becoming increasingly self-conscious about the fact that the kids he was watching had seen him eat his raw noodle brick everyday the past week.
He missed, most of all, the feeling of accomplishment that comes from eating beneath the kiss of the sun. A feeling that reminds humans that, at some point in time, we shared an ancestor with photosynthesising plants.
So, Grace found himself enjoying a me-burger beneath his artificial sun, dipping his toes into the water that teased the shoreline.
“Hey, Adrian, can you turn up the sun?” Grace called.
The lights shone brighter, Grace laid back into the sand.
Outside of his biodome, at the Centre for Human-Eridian Friendship, a particularly prudish Eridian had fainted, and was currently being escorted outside.
An uncharacteristic hush had fallen over the eager crowd of Grace-watchers as they observed with fascination, and passion, as Saviour-Grace ripped the soft “bread” of his “burger” with his sharp teeth.
There was a sort of softness to it, they noted as a pink tongue slid around meat, just beneath the pointy teeth that were puncturing the material.
His face contorted as his jaw moved independently, vastly different from the Eridian form of eating– which was far more… passive.
A quiet click echoed through the centre as an Eridian captured a photograph using a texture-screen.
“Grace ate in public today, statement.”
Grace groaned
“Is it really that big of a deal? I miss the whole “public eating” thing.”
Rocky let out a clicking tutter of disappointment,
“Big, big, big deal. Calico is going to meet with Grace in 200 seconds”
Grace paled, Calico was the leading designer of his human “requests”. She was a strong willed, creative, extremely spirited Eridian. He shuddered, remembering a sex doll that had appeared at his door a month ago.
This wasn’t a good sign.
“Can you make her go away?” Grace begged.
“No. Grace should have thought about this before he opened face-orifice in public.”
Grace let out a disgruntled cry that, strangely, aligned exactly with the Eridian word for “overalls”, an item of clothing that, as always, Rocky was disturbingly not wearing.
Calico sauntered toward Grace.
“Saviour-Grace, good morning! I have an excellent idea.”
Grace nervously replied
“Good morning Calico, whatever this idea is, if it’s human shaped, it’s rejected.”
Calico shook a claw disapprovingly,
“Grace needs to open his mind. Human forms are excellent models for construction.”
“Heads up, Calico, If Earth shows up and I’m not here to mitigate the fallout, do not mention anything about using humans as a model for construction.”
Calico clicked in reprimand, and presented a flat, xenonite etching of a blueprint.
“Extension to Centre to accommodate public eating activities!”
“A Cafeteria!” Grace exclaimed
“And it’s not shaped like a human, in fact, this design is excellent, Calico.”
Calico purred.
“Very good, will begin construction immediately.”
Within three days, Grace had a new viewing section of his biodome, that looked out into the cafeteria at the CHEF (Centre for Human-Eridian Friendship).
Grace dedicated half an hour each day to approaching the window, shake in hand, and trying to find an Eridian to eat with.
Unfortunately, he had yet to spot one despite the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria.
There was a line that stretched out the door, yet no one seemed to stay for food, it was strange.
He sent Adrian for reconnaissance.
“Hello Grace, here is sample of what food-hall is selling” Adrian provided a small box to Grace.
Upon opening the container, Grace was bewildered to discover that the cafeteria was not selling food, but rather pictures of him eating food.
“Is there, anything else? Like literally, anything, else sold there?”
Adrian shook their carapace, and soothingly offered
“There is a sculpture of Grace eating on display, don’t worry, it is under constant guard to prevent touching”
That did not soothe his distress.
Grace cried out disparagingly,
“I’m surrounded by a pack of fudging freaks! Adrian, save me!”
Adrian slyly took a particularly lewd print of Grace licking the edge of his vitamin shake, and trotted away.
“Calico, a cafeteria is meant to sell food.”
“We sell pictures of food, far more appealing to the public.”
“I want people to eat with me!”
“Oh… no, that’s probably never going to happen.”
Grace formed a new resolve, he was going to use his influence to change part of Eridian culture. He was not going to sit alone at lunch anymore, no sir.
“No.” Rocky declared.
“Please, Rock, just set me up with someone who will be happy to eat with me! Or you, I could eat with you.”
Rocky’s carapace trembled as he considered eating before an audience of the entire planet– even his dirtiest, most sordid novel did not describe such a scenario.
Grace pouted, and said, softer
“Please?”
Rocky clicked an annoyed trill, that manipulative little bastard.
“Fine.” he relented.
Thus, Grace sat with a pro-food ambassador, a sort of Eridian hippie covered in spiral scars, who wore a large, dress like covering around their carapace.
“It is my deepest honour to meet you, Saviour-Grace, and I thank you, from the bottom of my soul, for your contributions to the pro-food movement”
Grace smiled dumbly, happy to have found a friend to eat with.
As expected, this encounter had resulted in a cultural wave of public-eating. Unexpectedly, as Eridians began to sell replicas of his foods at the cafeteria, Grace’s menu expanded.
“I have bacon!” he cried in triumph to Rocky.
“Rocky knows, all Grace talks about is bacon, bacon, bacon.”
“Tell Calico that I want pancakes next.”
“Adrian, I need you to confirm that the cafeteria is actually selling food now, no you don’t have to eat there, just have a look.”
Adrian marched toward the cafeteria as if it were the electric chair.
The line was long, snaking back and forth, with easily 200 Eridians queued. The cafeteria was bustling as people sat down, stared at their food, and chickened out of eating it, taking their meals and pictures of Grace with them as they left.
Adrian tapped their foot impatiently, Rocky should be the one doing this, but Rocky had vanished when the word “food” left Grace’s mouth, something about a miniature model of a human “diner”.
Adrian read the menu above the counter, it displayed the current Eridian takes on human food being sold. Adrian could turn around and confirm that it at least seemed that they were selling actual food, but knowing the Centre for Human-Eridian Friendship, they might simply be selling models of the food.
Displayed above the counter was an advertisement for a cadmium and arsenic “burger”, it looked edible.
Next to that was an advertisement for the so-called “best-seller” of the cafeteria, an entirely lead based hot dog:
The line slowly grew shorter, and Adrian considered all the poor choices that led them to their current situation, standing in line with these… perverts.
Ahead of them, they watched a particularly philanthropic Eridian offer to “pay-it-forward” to whoever was behind, an act of stupidity in this hellscape of an institution.
Thus, it was not unexpected that the next person in line ordered:
“55 metal-burgers, 55 lead-dogs, 55 nickel-nuggets, 55 chromium-cheesecakes…”
Adrian sighed, and cautiously ordered a single nickel-nugget, this would have to do, see, compromise.
As they turned to leave the cafeteria, they unfortunately heard a familiar voice,
“Adrian! You’re here, come eat with me!”
Adrian attempted to ignore Grace, walking faster to the exit.
“Please Adrian, please, it will make me so happy!”
Adrian paused.
Oh ♫ ♬ above, give them strength.
Thus Adrian sat with Grace, separated by the border of his biodome, eating a nickel nugget and inspiring a wave of Eridians eager to get a dinner date with Saviour-Grace.
Grace soon discovered that the photos of him eating had not stopped.
In fact, the Centre for Human Eridian Friendship had compiled a series of images into a calendar, reminiscent of the “Sexy Firemen” calendars sold for charity on Earth. Perhaps picking out boogers wasn’t the best analogy for how Eridians perceived eating.
Grace didn't trust the motivations of the Centre for Human Eridian Friendship one bit, so he pestered Rocky until he agreed to find out where the sales of the calendars were going to.
“It’s all profit”
“There’s no charity?” Grace questioned, affronted.
“No. Only charity is sad, disturbed Eridians who are buying the stupid fucking things.”
“Language” Grace whistled in reprimand.
Grace was horrified, not because there was a sexy calendar of him eating, no, weirder things had happened.
Grace was disgusted in the behaviour of the Centre, they were disgracing the very spirit of the “Sexy Fireman” calendar, corrupting it with profiteering.
No Grace would fix this, he would become the universe's first interstellar philanthropist, and get better photos than the, stalkerish candids, they were currently selling.
Thus, Grace found himself posing along the shoreline with various foods, followed by an eager photographer.
The profits of the first annual “Saviour Eating” calendar were astronomical, and were donated in their entirety to Eridian communities recovering from the deep-cold.
It worked well, until one of his students photoshopped the calendar, and turned it in as an art assessment.
This in turn had led to a wave of “special edition” calendars, where eager Eridians would edit themselves into the saucy pictures.
He went to his dearest friends, Rocky and Adrian, to vent about the planet’s unfortunate fascination with his eating activities, only to find that they had their own, custom fluffing calendar placed next to their nest.
He turned to who was undoubtedly the culprit,
“Rocky, why exactly have you edited a picture of us sharing a vitamin shake?”
“Why? Does Grace want a copy, question?”