“Perhaps,” interrupted the green blur who had by this time resolved into the shape of a small wizened dark-suited green waiter, “perhaps you would care to discuss the matter over drinks…”
“Drinks!” cried Zaphod, “that was it! See what you miss if you don’t stay alert.”
“Indeed sir,” said the waiter patiently. “If the lady and gentlemen would care to order drinks before dinner…”
“Dinner!” Zaphod exclaimed with passion, “Listen, little green person, my stomach could take you home and cuddle you all night for the mere idea.”
“… and the Universe,” concluded the waiter, determined not to be deflected on his home stretch, “will explode later for your pleasure.”
Ford’s head swivelled towards him. He spoke with feeling.
“Wow,” he said, “What sort of drinks do you serve in this place?”
The waiter laughed a polite little waiter’s laugh.
“Ah,” he said, “I think sir has perhaps misunderstood me.”
“Oh, I hope not,” breathed Ford.
The waiter coughed a polite little waiter’s cough.
“It is not unusual for our customers to be a little disoriented by the time journey,” he said, “so if I might suggest…”
“Time journey?” said Zaphod.
“Time journey?” said Ford.
“Time journey?” said Trillian.
“You mean this isn’t the afterlife?” said Arthur.