The waiter smiled a polite little waiter’s smile. He had almost exhausted his polite little waiter repertoire and would soon be slipping into his role of a rather tight lipped and sarcastic little waiter.
“Afterlife sir?” he said, “No sir.”
“And we’re not dead?” said Arthur.
The waiter tightened his lips.
“Aha, ha,” he said, “Sir is most evidently alive, otherwise I would not attempt to serve sir.”
In an extraordinary gesture which is pointless attempting to describe, Zaphod Beeblebrox slapped both his foreheads with two of his arms and one of his thighs with the other.
“Hey guys,” he said, “This is crazy. We finally did it. We finally got to where we were going. This is Milliways!”
“Yes sir,” said the waiter, laying on the patience with a trowel, “this is Milliways – the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.”
“End of what?” said Arthur.
“The Universe,” repeated the waiter, very clearly and unnecessarily distinctly.
“When did that end?” said Arthur.
“In just a few minutes, sir,” said the waiter. He took a deep breath. He didn’t need to do this since his body was supplied with the peculiar assortment of gases it required for survival from a small intravenous device strapped to his leg. There are times, however, when whatever your metabolism you have to take a deep breath.
“Now, if you would care to order drinks at last,” he said, “I will then show you to your table.”
Zaphod grinned two manic grins, sauntered over to the bar and bought most of it.