Lupe Skywalper awkwardly sat cross-legged on the floor by the low table, studying the situation.
Before him was a plate of noodles, some sashimi and the jaws of a fish. There was familiar cutlery present, but the waiter had told him to use the chopsticks to eat: like short light sabres, they pointed at the waiter’s crotch as Lupe considered what to do. He picked the pair of sticks up, wondering how to use them. The waiter helpfully gestured at him, indicating he was to move the food to his mouth, but Lupe did not know how to do it. He looked round at the nearby patrons. A shovel headed alien was toasting his friend, a three-eyed tomato, with a little cup of sake. No help there.
Lupe decided he needed some wisdom. He closed his eyes and gathered his mind together, summoning the spirit of his spiritual father. Old Bem’s voice spoke. “Put the chopsticks down, son.”
“Are you sure, Obi-Wang?” Lupe wondered, fearful. “The waiter said…”
Bem smiled. “Do not worry. Use the forks, Lupe.”