Today, we are meeting a newly discovered race, named the Fzambi.
There are very strict on protocol and the correct etiquette, so Deanna has been coaching us all on the correct procedure. It is now my turn.
"Good evening, Ambassador" I practise, and offer my hand to shake.
Deanna looks alarmed.
"No Captain!" she says in panic, "That means you don't like him and want to spread your body germs on to him. It is a Supreme Insult."
"So what do I do?"
"You bend on your knees and say, "You are a Supreme Leader"
"That's a little extreme," I comment, "What will he do in reply."
"He will spit on you and say, "Wretch!"
"Is this meant to be diplomacy, Deanna?" I say to her, "The Fzambi sound like dictators; do we really want them in the Federation?"
"They DO have a lot a Diluthium" she points out.
"Let's move to the formal banquet" I say, "What will happen there?"
"The food will all be laid out for the Fzambian Ambassador and his guests," continues Deanna, "You and he will compliment each other. He will say "Disgusting!" and throw the drink on the floor. That means he likes it. When the main course comes round, he will throw his on the floor and tread in it. That is a great honour for you Captain."
"Really?" I say speculatively. I'm beginning to think the Fzambi are distant cousins of the Klingons.
"What about later?" I continue.
"In the formal concert" says Deanna, "The Fzambians will chatter away above the music and ignore it. Don't get offended at this. It means they like the sound and don't want it to stop."
"All right" I tell her, "I think I've got everything."
Later that evening, I walk to SickBay with Deanna; I have a black eye, and have been punched in the stomach. My leg is also very sore.
"Captain" she says sadly, "I thought we went over that; DON'T shake a Fzambian by the hand!"