On the Acquisition of a Most Necessary Hat

I must begin with an important correction to my previous understanding of formal tea customs.
I believed, incorrectly, that the requirements for attending a Tea Party were as follows:

1. Arrive.
2. Drink tea.
3. Take detailed notes in order to categorize all attendees, ask as many of my Top Questions as possible, and ensure that each person is properly documented for the Ledger.

This list was incomplete.
A hat is also required.
This was brought to my attention with some urgency, as the Tea Party was to occur later that very same day, and I had arrived in Varos tragically unhatted.

Please understand the severity of this.
Meeting new people requires preparation.

First, one must approach with appropriate enthusiasm.
Second, one must shake their hand vigorously, unless they do not have hands, or do not wish for shaking, or are holding something breakable, or are actively on fire.
Third, one must introduce oneself clearly:
“Hello! I am Ledger! May I ask you some questions so I might document you here in Ledger’s Ledger?”
Then, if permission is granted, the proper questions are as follows:

• What is your name? Can you spell that for me?
• What is your favorite color?
• What is your favorite snack?
• What is your favorite weapon?
• If your colleagues were talking about you, what would they say is your superpower?
• What else would you like me to include in the Ledger about you?

As you can see, this is already a very full social procedure.

To discover, on the day of the Tea Party itself, that I also required specialized headwear was not a small matter.

It was a quest.

Fortunately, I was not alone in my deficiency! Rascal, an adventurer of excellent timing, also required a hat, and so we set forth together in search of a place called Charlie’s, which I had been told was the best place ever to acquire one.

Please note: when someone tells you a place is “the best place ever,” it is important to investigate immediately. This is either a recommendation, a warning, or both.

Finding Charlie’s required wandering.
Then more wandering.
Then several wrong turns which may have been unnecessary but were still educational, because every wrong turn teaches you where a place is not.
At last, we found it.

At the front was a Kobold called The Doorman, which is a very clear and helpful name because he was, in fact, at the door. I appreciate this sort of labeling very much.
The Doorman appeared to be sunbathing at his post.
Not simply sitting in the sun.
Sunbathing.

With intent.

His face had gone quite red, and he had positioned a mirror to redirect even more sun toward his already crispifying facial features. I am not yet certain whether this was a medical treatment, a Kobold custom, a personal hobby, or a misunderstanding with consequences. I regret that I did not have time to ask follow-up questions.

Our arrival startled him somewhat, but he recovered quickly and was very helpful, if a little scattered in the ordering of his thoughts. When we asked about hats, he did not immediately know whether Charlie’s sold them.
This surprised me.
It also delighted me.
Because then he hollered through a door.
And from beyond that door came answers.

This is where Charlie’s became much more interesting.
From the outside, Charlie’s appeared to be one establishment of ordinary size.
From the inside, or at least from the evidence provided by the hollering, it contained a boggling amount of space, business, and people.

And then I learned something even more important.
Legible, the proprietor of Charlie’s, does not merely have a boggling amount of space.
Within that space, he has a whole room full of ledgers.
A whole room.
Full of ledgers.
For his business.
Please understand that I am writing this as calmly as possible.
I could not see the room myself, which is a tragedy of some magnitude, but the existence of such a room changes the entire scholarly classification of Charlie’s.
It is not merely a shop.
It is a shop with an archive.
This means Charlie’s requires further study.
Possibly extensive study.
Possibly repeated study.
Possibly with snacks, in case the ledgers are numerous enough to require sustained attention.

Eventually, after a proper exchange of hollered inquiry and hollered confirmation, The Doorman informed us that yes, Charlie’s did sell hats.
Or could sell hats.
Or would sell hats.
Or would locate hats.
The precise distinction may matter to merchants, but to a person in immediate need of Tea Party headwear, these are all excellent answers.
He asked about my budget, which was not money but objects to trade. This seemed acceptable. He then assured Rascal and me that appropriate hats would be delivered to the Tea Party in time for us to attend.

This was wonderful news.
It was also deeply suspenseful news.
Because at that moment I did not yet know what sort of hat Charlie’s would provide.
A simple hat?
A formal hat?
A scholarly hat?
A hat with feathers?
A hat with historical significance?
A hat that had previously belonged to someone important, dangerous, or unusually tall?
There was no way to know.

This is one of the most difficult conditions for an archivist: awaiting an object of unknown category.
With the hat matter apparently resolved, Rascal and I returned to the Tavern. The path back was much more direct than the path there, which proves that getting lost can be a temporary condition if one pays enough attention after the fact.

Then came the waiting.
I attempted to wait calmly.
This was not possible.
Awaiting an object of unknown category is one of the most academically stressful conditions an archivist can experience.

Important conclusions from this expedition:

1. Tea Parties require hats.
2. Charlie’s can provide hats, though possibly not immediately and not always with advance certainty.
3. The Doorman is helpful, red-faced, and in need of additional observation.
4. Legible keeps a whole room full of business ledgers, which means Charlie’s is not merely a shop but a shop with an archive.
5. A building may be larger in business than it is in walls.
6. Wrong turns are not failures if they produce map data.
7. Awaiting a promised hat is an academically stressful condition.

I had only just finished arranging these conclusions in my notes when Legible arrived.

With the hat.

Dear everyone that should ever read this ledger, I must report that I have seen many objects in my life. Useful objects. Shiny objects. Suspicious objects. Objects that were probably cursed but very interesting.
But this was not merely an object.
This was a hat.
A magnificent multicolor top hat, tall and bright, with fabric springs bouncing out from it in all directions as if joy itself had been attached to my head by structural means.

I had no words.

This is extremely rare and should be documented.
The Tea Party could now begin.
With great anticipation and newly acquired headwear,

Ledger