Our friend, Wilbur, was walking home along the outer ring of the space station Hebe after another boring shift scraping Dark Matter Gamma Barnacles off the outer hull. He doubted they were composed of either dark matter or gamma particles since they popped off easily enough with his standard-issue pulsar-rhodium crowbar. Although, one of the purple, half-clam-like creatures floated around and suckered onto his lower back once. He managed to free himself from the space-leech, but ever since, he gets a funny tingle in his right fibula when solar winds approach.
    Wilbur was exhausted and starving. It was another two blocks to his dormitory, a fatiguing ride up to the second story on the levi-pad, and another several seconds to take the automated people-mover to his cubicle. And then another ten or twelve seconds to reconstitute his food bean.
    It would take one of the newer, five-gigawatt reconstituters a fraction of the time his older model needed, but Wilbur didn't make five gigawatt kind of money. He made do by tapping his foot and swearing he was going to ditch his old one-gigawatt reconstituter when the newer models went on sale on Hyper-Cyber Monday.
    Wilbur snapped out of his reverie just in time to notice he stood in front of a new restaurant. The flashing hologram in the window proclaimed it was Nouveau Prussian Antarctic Vegan Haute Cuisine, which meant they probably didn't have sauerkraut and penguin-bratwurst pizza on the menu. Wilbur would save that for tomorrow's food bean at home.
    He didn't want to eat at any old new place that popped up in front of him, so Wilbur did the responsible thing and searched for online reviews through his implanted arm chip, so he could judge a spot by other people's comments instead of having to try it for himself. He didn't find any. Not one review of the place.
    Now Wilbur was in a quandary. How would he know if he wanted to eat someplace if other people hadn't already critiqued it for him?
    Wilbur had made up his mind. He was going home to reconstitute some beans on toast. They were actually leftovers from yesterday, but his beans had reverted to a food bean, so he would have to reconstitute his bean into beans.
    Suddenly the door whooshed open, and the robot chef escorted a smiling couple outside with a "Y'all come back now, ya hear!"
    "Howdy, hon'!" she fixed her LED eyes on Wilbur. "I'm Paula Fifdeen, and this is my little ol' place. Come in and sit a spell."
    "Weren't you involved in some scandal a while back? I seem to remember lots of animal products and the word 'ni—'"
    "No, no!" Paula interrupted. "That was Paula Fourdeen. She's been deactivated, probably. Or something."
    "Are you saying 'Fifteen' or 'Fifdeen?' It's just that it sounds like you are saying…"
    "Fifteen. I just had my enunciation software upgraded! I was pre-loaded with the 'gold' package. I splurged, skipped the 'platinum' suite, and sprang for the 'trebek' bundle. My diction is beyond reproach!"
    "You say 'y'all'…"
    "It's in the dictionary!"
    Wilbur frantically searched for her online, but alas, he didn't find anything. He was about to swipe left and go home to his bean(s), but Paula was already pulling him by his elbow into the building. He began to panic. It was dangerous to try new things when you couldn't pre-experience them through other people first.
    Paula seated Wilbur and gave him a menu. Nothing on it was familiar, and Wilbur only did familiar things. He decided he would be surly and make a few demands.
    "Your meals are all $2.99 to $4.99," Wilbur told Paula. "I'm not comfortable paying that price for something I've never had before. Can I get some samples of your food?"
    "Samples?" Paula asked.
    "Yes. If I'm to decide if I want to pay for something new, I need reviews from diners, samples, and better prices than these."
    "Well, we have appetizers right there on the first page…"
    "No, no, I'm not looking for appetizers. I want some samples. Free samples."
    "Free…well, we don't usually—"
    "Well, if I can't have free samples, I'm leaving," Wilbur declared and began to get up.
    "Give me a nanosecond to process this.
    "Processing done.
    "Well, hon', I'm trying to build my business and get reviews and likes online, so I guess I can sacrifice some of my profits upfront for rewards on the back end. Lemme fix ya' up a plate." Paula turned and whirred into the kitchen.
    "And a cup of coffee! Black-hole—no cream or sugar!" Wilbur called after her.
    Wilbur had time to peruse the menu and look around the place. It seemed nice enough. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it would become fancier over time.
    Paula Fifteen returned with a platter of assorted items and a cup of black-hole coffee. Paula stopped her exhaust fan and patiently waited for his review.
    Wilbur slowly tried all of the samples. Some were plain, some were better than expected, some needed more salt, but he wouldn't tell Paula that.
    "They were pretty good…" Wilbur began.
    Paula started her exhaust fan again and let out a big gust of hot, fried air. "Whew! I was afraid you wouldn't like them! I get so nervous—"
    "Robots get nervous?"
    "—So does that mean you want to try one of my entrees?"
    "Well…," Wilbur scanned down the menu. "These prices are pretty high. I don't think I could try something I don't know about if it costs more than 99 cents."
    Paula Fifteen's gears drooped. "But, I just gave you a whole bunch of free samples. And I've been working the menu for a couple of years. It turned out exactly how I wanted it to."
    "If you had some 5-star reviews online and were rated higher on Congo (the main restaurant marketing website that all eateries lived and died by), I might consider it, but I can't see myself spending more than 99 cents. Come to think of it, you should give me the meal for free."
    Paula looked around with regret in her LED lights. "I've invested so much in this place. This is my livelihood. I would be willing to sell you a meal for 99 cents, but I have costs to cover."
    "Look, Paula, your samples were delicious, but I don't know you. I can just as easily go down the street and order from another robot chef. Who are those two just around the corner?"
    "Terry Ratchet and Douglas Atoms?
    "That's them. I've heard of them. In fact I'd be willing to pay $10 or $15 to eat at their places."
    "Didn't I see you walk by with a cup of coffee this morning? How much did that cost?
    "It only cost $12.50, and it was a caramel macchiato with an extra espresso shot, whipped cream, and cocoa dust on top, thank you very much. But you couldn't possibly expect me to pay more than 'free' for something I may only enjoy for a few hours, or at most, a week, could you? It's not like you are coffee."
    Paula's antennas dangled in defeat. "Fine. I'll give you a complimentary meal in exchange for a review online. After all, I need something in return if I give you food for free."
    Wilbur pretended to be considering the offer, but he had already made up his mind. "Okay, I'll try it. I'm not promising anything, though."
    Paula returned to the kitchen to get Wilbur his meal.
    When the plate was in front of him, Wilbur decided it wasn't worth his time after all. He ate half the food, got bored, and left. Maybe if Paula could sell some free meals to other diners, get some 5-star reviews, and was rated higher on Congo, he might be back and actually pay 99 cents for dinner, but not the ridiculous $2.99 that Paula was charging. Let some other chump do that. And he certainly wasn't going to leave a review for food he didn't pay for.